


Press

by LouisWain1939



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Angry Sex, Anthology, Begging, Blindfolds, Bondage, Car Sex, Clothed Sex, Exhibitionism, F/M, Feminization, Fever Dreams, First Time Bottoming, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Lingerie, Masturbation, Military Uniforms, Mirror Sex, Naked Male Clothed Female, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pegging, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Pubic Hair, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Threesome - F/M/M, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 48,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouisWain1939/pseuds/LouisWain1939
Summary: I decided to write an anthology of pegging Paul (among other things) throughout the years. It spans from 1962 to 1993.
Relationships: Paul McCartney/Original Character(s), Paul McCartney/You
Comments: 16
Kudos: 60





	1. 13 October 1962

**Author's Note:**

> The story is more of an interconnected series of events than a narrative love story. It's in the second person, and I tried to make any physical descriptions vague. Reader has a consistent appearance and age despite the year.

After years of hard work, Paul and his band had released their first single: “Love Me Do”. What’s more is that it peaked at number 17 on the UK charts. Needless to say you were very proud of him. This, along with finding a manager, seemed to be a turning point in his career, and he was beginning to play gigs more frequently.

He had played a lunchtime show at the cavern, then traveled to Crewe, Cheshire to play at the Majestic Ballroom. The problem was that his energy level would just get so high from performing. As the night winded down, he needed help to wind down as well.   
  


You’d brought him back to his hotel room, worn out, though still talking loudly and walking around. You got him to lay down, promising you’d help him relax. He now had his head resting on the pillow, eyes shut peacefully. He was still clothed, wearing his turtleneck and trousers, though you had pushed it up slightly to expose his navel, and had undone his fly.

Paul’s hands were tangled in your hair, his legs slightly apart, head tilted back, and mouth agape, as you sucked him off.

You’d been winding him up for a bit. When you’d first got in, he wasted no time in joining you on the bed, pushing himself against you and feeling you up. Normally you’d be fine with this, but you could tell that he was overexerting himself.

You took over for him, moving so that he could rest against the headboard. You massaged his thighs, releasing the tension there. He was already hard by the time you unbuttoned his trousers. You could feel the heat radiating off of his member when you pressed your lips against it.

You glanced up to see him gazing down at you with unfocused eyes, lips parted. You grinned up at his dazed expression.

You raised your head off him, and began to slowly stroke him off, your opposite thumb rubbing against his perineum.

“Say, Paul, could I try something? I’m sure you’d enjoy it.” You said.

“Hmmm?” He drew out, his voice deep.

His eyes were still closed, focusing on the sensations.

“I heard men have this erogenous zone, and it feels even better than getting sucked off.”

“Oh, where?”

“Well... I have to touch you, uh, on the inside,”

“What?” He mumbled, opening his eyes.

You moved the thumb on his perineum lower, applying slight pressure as to signify what you meant, but not so much that it’d slip in. You traced around the rim.

He raised his head slightly, eyebrows furrowed. He was in a hazy state from the pleasure and sleepiness, your hand still slowly stroking him.

“Oh no, you don’t mean to finger me?” He muttered.

“Only if you want to,” you paused, “supposed to feel incredible though.”

  
He thought over it. Mind clouded with lust, he was more preoccupied at the thought of more pleasure than keeping his pride.

“It’ll stay between us, yeah?” he said

“Course”

You wet your finger in your mouth. Your fingers were rather slender, so it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

You inserted your right pointer finger inside, feeling around, your left hand still stroking him off.

“Feel anything?”

“Dunno, s’a bit strange feelin” he mumbled

You pushed deeper, trying to find what you were looking for. When you brushed against a bump, and Paul let out a whine, you figured this was it.

“Oh! Found it!” you said

You began to focus more on that spot, applying more pressure, covering the entire area. You tried different things in order to explore the reactions he’d give.

His face was red from both self-consciousness and the intimate stimulation.

He closed his eyes again as they were rolling back. It seemed that he was self-conscious of the high pitched noises he was making each time you pressed into the spot.

Usually when he fucked you, his moans would be deeper, coming from the back of his throat. He’d sigh and exhale some, maybe getting higher pitched when he got closer and more desperate. Maybe something about this brought out the upper half of his vocal range. He whined and squealed at the sensation, spreading his thighs and arching his back.

“Does it feel good, Darling?”

He hummed for yes, keeping his eyes shut tight.

You kept massaging the spot, and picked up the pace of your left hand that was jerking him off.

Paul was a mess, rather loud too. His face was flushed with a sheen of sweat like earlier that night on stage. He was gasping for breath and unconsciously thrusting into your hand.

It wasn’t long before he was cumming onto himself, over his soft stomach and pretty chest. Some got on his chin. He lay breathing heavily, recovering.

You got up from the bed to get a warm cloth from the hotel bathroom, then ran it over his body, wiping all of the sweat and fluid off.

“Oh my,” he mumbled, looking at the ceiling, “I didn’t know I could cum from that.”

You brought the towel over his neck, softly toweling off his forehead.

“This doesn’t make me a girl does’t?” He questioned leaning into your administrations.

“Course not, women don’t have that spot. If you were a girl, you wouldn’t have felt anything special.”

“Yeah but, getting fingered I suppose.”

“I don’t mind, I won’t tell anyone anyways.” you placed a kiss on his jaw. “I like getting you off.”

He slept soundly that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know reader inserts aren’t really the move on a03, but I’m not into McLennon or anything. No shade if you are, but I literally can’t think about JL in a sexual way. I’m attracted to women and Paul if that wasn’t kinda obvious. Writing for fun has been a great stress reliever! I’ve been really busy lately, and I forgot how much I enjoy it.


	2. 16 October 1962

Paul had returned from playing in another Cheshire town: Runcorn. Since it was only 14 miles south, he’d come back by train instead of paying for a room for the night. Still, it was late when he returned, and he was tired from the long night of travel and performing.

What’s more is that tomorrow he’d be traveling to Manchester for his first television debut, a local program called “People and Places”, as well as both a lunch and dinner time show at the cavern. The program would only broadcast to the north and north-west, but you could tell the thought of being filmed made him nervous.

These were the nights where you looked after him. You didn’t mind taking your time to draw out lazy moans and sluggish movements as his orgasm slowly built up. Not to be misunderstood, Paul very much enjoyed taking the lead and fucking you against various surfaces, he was as cute as a rabbit, and just as horny. However, he couldn’t be that energetic all the time.

You stroked him off with both hands, and had rolled his shirt up a bit. You loved the trail of soft dark public hair that didn’t quite reach his navel. It guided the eye downwards, and it was where the scent of his arousal accumulated. The dark color of it, similar to his eyebrows and hair, contrasted beautifully with his pale skin. It was also soft to the touch, not at all wiry, the heat coming off his skin warming it. It would get damp as he got more desperate, from condensation and fluid leaking down his shaft.

You would buy lubrication to use with him, you could more fluidly slide your hand up and down his length, as Paul loved a fast pace. You got immeasurable satisfaction when he came undone underneath you. He was passionate when he took charge, quick, his large but delicate hands firmly on your hips, pulling your body tight against him. Sure, he had a pretty face and feminine features, but wasn’t a small man at 5’11” and 158 pounds. He was deceptively strong, easily able to maneuver or hold you up against a wall while he pounded into you rough and fast.

That being said, this was a different kind of thrill, having him exposed to you like this. Paul let loose during sex, sure, but he didn’t relinguish control, putting his pleasure in somebody else’s hands. You were fully clothed and clear headed, while he was lost in sensation.

He wet his lips.

“Could you, uh” he said through his moans.

“What is it?”

“What you did last time?”

“You don’t have to be shy, you know.”

“Yes, but it’s like, ’m being fingered like a girl.”

“I’m not fingering you like a girl, I’m touching something only men have.”

“I know” he said “jus strange y'know.”

You brought your face closer to his, looking deep into his dark lidded eyes.

“It doesn’t make you less of a man, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. “you’re very much a man to me, Paul. A very lovely one at that.”

You paused to admire his face. Teardrop shaped, doe eyed, dark arched eyebrows, petal lips which were often parted, he could be the subject of a victorian oil painting, or a 1930s starlet. That was when he wasn’t putting on his silly grins, of course. His soft cheeks bunched up, showing off his rabbit teeth.

“I want you to feel nice, darling. You feel good from it don’t you? You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“I do,” he said softly.

You nodded, he closed his eyes. You applied more lubrication to your fingers, and some more around his entrance. He opened his thighs a bit more. It ran down his upper inner thighs, slicking down the hair.

It was easier to finger him with the lubrication than just spit, you added a few more fingers once he could take it, covering the entirety of the spot. You could move easier, pressing into it, allowing him to feel the slight stretch. He begged for more, and curled his legs around you. You quickened your pace, pressing harder.

He whined more and more as he got close, and let out a final prolonged whine, eyes shut tightly, gritted teeth, when he finally came. You worked him through it, your hand squeezing up from the base over and over until he released it all, pressing into the spot as well.

You knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d be drifting off to sleep. You rested your chin on your interlocked fingers atop his chest. You could feel his heartbeat and his chest rise and fall underneath you, as you watched his serene expression, long eyelashes resting on his cheeks.

“It worries me, y’know, that I like it.” He said sleepily, eyes still closed. “Laying still n’ lettin’ you touch me. Makes me feel calm in a way, not havin’ to think about things.”

“You shouldn’t have to be in control all the time, you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You said “It’ll drive you mad.”

He shook his head gently.

“But shouldn’t I? S’my job isn’t it to take care of ya.”

“Well sometimes, sure, but you’ve had a long day. Don’t you think you deserve to be taken care of?” You ran a finger down the slope of his button nose. “A pretty thing like you? I don’t mind at all.”

Paul turned his head to the side. He got bashful when complimented, but at the same time it was a drug to him. He loved attention and he loved praise. Though it tired him out, nothing played to this like performing. He would likely receive an abundance of it throughout the years, people captivated by his beauty and passion. It fed into his ego, and he lived off it.

After that night, he was less shy about asking for it. Though he would still drill you on the regular, after a long hard day, you’d lay him down and pleasure his sweet body.


	3. 6 November 1962

In accordance with his contract, Paul would be performing at the Hamburg Star-Club for the next fourteen days. He’d go on for three and a half hours per night, and paid £53.50 per week.*

Hamburg was known for being more open to certain things than the UK, and for that reason you were able to get your hands on a very intriguing device.

Paul was resting face-down on his knees and chest, burying his face in a pillow he was hugging. You hoped he wasn’t muffling his noises out of insecurity, but his bashfulness was a bit endearing. You diligently massaged your fingers against that one spot, holding his erection loosely in your other hand. He thrusted into your fist whenever you pressed just right.

“I’ve got something for you, if you’re up for it” You said

He turned his head slightly to speak.

“What’s it?”

“It’ll feel nice, close your eyes”

He pressed his face back into the pillow, pushing back against your fingers.

The device in question was a dark lavender vibrator. It wasn’t very large or phallic, rather designed to angle just right as to press into Paul’s prostate, delivering good vibrations.

He was prepared well enough, so you slowly slid it in. It wasn’t much of a stretch. Paul moans as it pressed firmly into his prostate, it not having the give your fingers did. The other end of it following the curve of his back, ending in a spiral. It looked cute, like a little tail. It was designed to stay in place, rather than be moved in and out.

You turned it on with the remote, and Paul lifted his head, and let out a noise.

Paul turned over, so he was facing up, and arched his back. He felt the end of the toy with his fingertips.

“Oooooh, what's this?”

“It’s a vibrator”

You experimented with the dial, turning it to the maximum setting. Paul squealed quite loudly, arching his back more, and grabbed his dick instinctively.

He whined, tossing his head side to side, unable to detach himself from the stimulation.

“Christ! Stopit, I’m about to cum!”

You turned the dial back down, and he calmed, breathing heavily. He slid his left hand up and down his length in time with the vibrations. His eyes were closed and there was blush on his cheeks. He was quite the sight.

You turned the dial up slower this time, gradually increasing the intensity. He whined, but wasn’t overwhelmed this time. As the vibration slowly increased, so did his hand’s pace.

His moans became higher and his breaths shallower as the setting increased. His dick was red and twitching in his hand, likely riled up from the close call before. His thumb swiped over the head, smearing the precum. You could tell it wouldn’t be much longer.

You noticed the dial was turned back to the maximum setting. Paul groaned loudly, and before he processed it, was finishing in his hand, eyes slightly open and teary.

—

Thanks to the device, you could fuck Paul and simulate him inside at the same time. You could only imagine how nice it felt to be pleasured by both ends simultaneously. He definitely seemed miles away, with unfocused eyes, a wide grin, and flushed cheeks, while he pounded away at you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I did the math, and these guys were making sixty dollars each per hour! Each! Adjusting to inflation and converting it into American dollars I mean. That’s better than minimum wage I’d say.


	4. 19 December 1962

Paul and his band returned to Hamburg for their third and final stretch of performances at the Star-Club, 34 days after their last departure. This time, they were being paid £67 per week. Despite this, Paul didn’t seem too keen on fulfilling their contractual obligation, which would end on December 31st. Though he had fond memories of the city and the people there, his carrer had really begun to take off in England. He’d been playing at more prestigious venues, along with many television and radio appearances, not to mention his success in the charts.

You were all for showing your support, you would see his shows, but visiting the loud crowded nightclub every night was a bit much. Sometimes you’d walk around the city at dusk, cold clear air against your face, watching the running water in the canals and the distant sounds coming from various buildings and bars.

You decided to visit the same store in which you found the lavender vibrator. While there, you noticed something in the window that caught your eye.

\---

That night you were moving the vibrator in and out of him, twisting around the spiral end. Paul was being very loud, as the angle slid and pushed against his prostate, vibrating at moderate intensity. This seemed to be the best setting, as it would make him more and more sensitized instead of just building up to an orgasm.

He rolled his hips in rhythm with your movements, his head tilted back and mouth agape. Paul moaned and hummed, such sweet noises. Poor thing was too out of it to take notice, but a small amount of drool was moistening his bottom lip. His talking and singing voice was very lovely, but this was a whole different level. You felt lucky to hear the need pour out of his lips, sweeter than his ballads.

You were laying between his legs, resting on your elbows. You pushed his right thigh upwards with your other hand busy with the toy. His member lay stiff on his soft stomach. He wasn’t muscular, but you liked the feminine softness of his body, the delicate pale skin and curves.

“Do you think I could try fucking you?” You asked.

“Fucking me?” Paul slurred, dazed. “You already do that.”

“No I mean, I’d be the one fucking you, see. With a prosthetic.”

Realization dawned on him, his eyes widening.

“Oh.”

“Come on, darlin’, you’d just look so nice under me.” You purred “You seem to be enjoying this so much, and I get fucked by you all the time.”

You kissed his lower navel, and gazed up at him through your lashes, tracing his hip bones with your thumbs.

“I could kiss you while I do it, and press my bare chest against yours. I wouldn’t have to stay down here, see. It’s up to you though.”

“It does feel nice.” He said softly, then paused.

“But, I’d be getting fucked like a bird.” He said, then muttered “Think of what they’d say about me. They already make comments about me being’ too girly-like.”

You moved from your place between his thighs, crawling closer to hover over him, your eyes looking down into his.

“Nobody has to know, Paulie. You’d not be getting fucked by a man. I’m not a man am I?” You said, drawing out your words. Your eyes scanned over his features, the hunger accumulating in them not well concealed.

“No, you’re not.” He said breathily.

You cupped his face, then slid your hands slowly over the sides of his neck, then down his bare chest. His skin was very soft.

“It’ll stay between us Darling. I know you’ll love it, I just know it.”

“...Alright. You won’t hold it over my head?”

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing to let happen to you, I can’t hold it over your head.” You said gently. “Oh I’d just love to take care of you, you pretty thing...”

He nodded. You kissed his eyelids. Then returned to pleasing him.


	5. 22 December 1962

Today was the day you’d do it, you’d gone to that shop last night and bought what you needed.

You could tell Paul was nervous as you entered the room with the shopping bag, setting it down on the nightstand. He was sitting cross legged on the bed. You turned your head to him, your face lighting up, and you embraced him from behind, loosely wrapping your arms around his stomach. You preferred the soft jumpers he wore to the leather garments. It looked nice, but the cotton and wool felt nicer to the touch, conducting his body heat, warming the fabric.

He hadn’t performed yet today, so the cigarette and liquor smell of the club wasn’t clinging to his clothes. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. It was warm, and the soft hair tickled your lips. He smelled nice, like himself. This was a more subtle version of the scent that radiated lower when he was fully aroused and needy, something more primal and raw.

Your hands moved lower, past the end of his sweater. You curled your hands around where his legs met his body. You weren’t directly touching him there, but you could tell he was hard, aroused by both anticipation and the contours of your body pressing into his back.

Your face was buried in Paul’s neck, leaving wet marks from your kisses and gentle biting. You unzipped his fly, and held the soft skin of his erection in your palm.

The proximity to his body was nice, as you could feel his reactions instead of just seeing them. You held his member tighter, and you could feel him stiffen up. You felt him sigh when you began to stroke it.

You loved the feeling of it in your hand. The skin there was the softest on his body, smooth as silk, but the intense heat seeped into your palm. He got hard quickly as he was still young, and you could feel the need in every heartbeat that coursed through it. Despite it being an organ, it was oddly immaculate, symmetrical and blemish-free, curving smoothly upward when erect. It filled with blood evenly, becoming a pleasant pink hue. The only exception was when you’d keep him on edge for a while, increasingly lighter touches, or avoiding the area completely. His dick would become desperate, painfully hard and swollen, dark red and leaking precum, veins appearing.

You worked Paul more with your hand, peering over his shoulder. He was leaning back into you, holding the duvet lightly under him in each fist. He opened his legs more as you stroked him. Each hum and sigh vibrating against your body. Your pace wasn’t quick enough to bring him close, but enough for warmth to pool in his lower abdomen.

You kissed the side of his neck, then unattached yourself from his back. You came around to his front, lowering yourself to take him in your mouth.

Your mouth felt even better than your hand. You could taste Paul’s desire and bury your nose in his soft pubic hair, breathing in his arousal. You loved the rubbery head at the back of your throat, making you gag. You even loved when Paul pushed your head deeper, making you choke on the girth of it. It gave you a thrill knowing it was _his_ cock cutting off your oxygen, pleasuring him. You loved the feeling of it hot and heavy on your tongue, twitching when you moved it just right, his sweet noises coming from miles away. Call it oral fixation if you will, but your lust for him manifested in the need to shove him down your throat as deep as possible.

Your goal however, was not for him to release in your mouth. (not tonight anyway). You pulled back, a string of saliva still connecting your bottom lip to his head. You held it in your hand, moving your lips lower to his balls. You lingered there a moment, taking care not to be too rough. When you tried to move lower, your lips hit the rough dry fabric of his trousers.

“These need to come off, Darling.”

Paul nodded, and laid back, allowing you to slide them off, revealing his pale shapely legs, dark hair lovely contrast against it.

You brought your face down again, lips just under his perineum. He was clean there. You were glad that he wasn’t one of those men who didn’t practice hygiene because of their “masculine pride”.

“Ohhhh” he moaned.

He lightly pushed your head deeper with his hands. When you first tried it, he was justly put off, but after actually feeling your mouth against him, he couldn’t resist it. Your tongue felt so strange but pleasurable inside of him, a completely different feeling than your fingers. You flattened your palms against his thighs, pushing them further apart and up, trying to go deeper. You couldn't quite reach his prostate though.

“More” Paul whined, pushing his hips harder against you.

“Don’t worry, Paulie. I’ll be deep inside you soon enough.” You said, moving away. You reached for the nightstand, placing the bag on the bed. Paul sat up, lidded eyes peering down at it.

“Is that the prosthetic?” He slurred. His mind was a bit cloudy from the arousal.

“Yes, but lubrication as well.”

He nodded

“Come,” Paul said, voice low, opening his arms in invitation. You moved closer, and he wrapped them around your body.

Paul pressed himself against you, kissing your open mouth. His erection pushed against your abdomen, getting lost in the folds of your skirt. His movements untucked your blouse up, pulling it up. His large but delicate hands ran across your bare back, toying at the clasp of your bra.

He let you pull away to slip your blouse off, which you draped over the headboard. He let you remove his sweater and unbutton the collared shirt underneath. With that out of the way, he indulged in your bare upper half, roughly feeling up your sides and waist with his large hands. You savored the feeling of his calloused fingertips against your delicate skin. His skin was also soft, but didn’t have the same level of pliancy women did. You let him bury his face in your neck, shivering when his rabbit teeth and plush lips grazed against it.

“Are you ready?” you murmured.

He hummed in affirmation, then retreated from the embrace.

Without breaking your gaze, Paul rested against the pillows at the headboard. He spread his thighs, spots of precum drying on his fluffy thigh hair. You licked your lips, subconsciously drawn to the scent, leaning into it. The straining heat and stiffness would feel nice against your face, against your tongue, the taste of it. It felt nice inside you as well, hot and twitching, curving just right. It was the perfect size, not too large and not too small. His soft pale body, delicate hands, soft flushed cheeks, pink pouty lips, and soft mussed up dark hair was there for the taking, dark lidded eyes looking at you, clouded with lust.

It must be his arched eyebrows, but he always had an air of aloofness. Prideful. He seemed to look impatient, waiting for you to touch him already. He deserved it didn’t he? He was a beauty, you told him so. You should be so lucky.

You coated your fingers in the cherry lubrication, encircling the rim of his entrance. Paul moaned quietly in frustration, pushing his hips closer from impatience, as if to say “get on with it!”

“Don’t be so hasty, Sweetheart.” you giggled. He trembled around you as soon as your first finger slipped inside. He hummed in pleasure, but simultaneously frustrated. He wanted more.

You made sure to use a generous amount of lubrication, sparing no expense. You wanted to make sure he wouldn’t feel any discomfort. It was slicking down his fuzzy hair on his upper thighs, around his entrance. Your fingers slid in and out with ease, stretching him out. Whenever your knuckles brushed against his prostate he whined. A drop of precum leaked down his shaft in a neat line, you had to push down the impulse to lick it off. You wanted him to cum from getting fucked. He seemed sufficiently prepared.

The prosthetic you picked out was only a bit larger than him at 6 inches. You didn’t want to overwhelm him on the first go. It was a simple gray-blue one, that curved slightly, with some indentation where the head would be. You didn't want one that resembled the real thing too closely, afraid to humiliate Paul by making him cum from a realistic dick sliding in and out of him. You attached it to your waist.

You positioned your body between his thighs, and curled his legs around you, beckoning you closer. The tip grazed against his entrance.

“Are you okay with this?” You said completely serious. As much as you wanted to fuck Paul, you didn’t want to force it on him, leaving him feeling violated. “We don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”

“J’st fuck me already, for chrissake!” He groaned. “Tease!”

Poor thing, you’ve been toying with him for a while already, haven't you. Any more and he’d explode. Well, that’d happen soon enough.

You began to slide into Paul, arms braced on either side of his shoulders. It was an easy fit thanks to the lubrication and prep. Still, it was the first time he took something of this size. His head was tilted back, eyebrows furrowed, breathing gently, getting used to the stretch. His face was very close to yours, you could feel his breaths against your cheeks and lips. He looked so sweet and vulnerable, exposing himself to you. There was a bit of condensation on his skin, cheeks slightly flushed, lips parted. He had light freckles on his cheeks and on his nose, more visible this close.

“How does it feel?” you said softly.

“Ooh, it's big.” he breathed, shutting his eyes tightly.

“I know, darling.” You cupped his pink cheeks in your hands, caressing his freckles with your thumbs. You took his mouth in yours. It was wet and hot, his lips were plump and lovely. You got a thrill when his sharp bottom canine grazed your tongue, brushing against his crooked upper right one, his front rabbit teeth bit into your lower lip. Cheeky you thought.

You started to shift inside him, and he started with his sweet noises. He hugged your back to him tightly, finding grounding when facing this strange new sensation.

You kept thrusting into his sweet body, getting rougher as he got more comfortable. You tried pulling it nearly out, then slamming back in. You tried some of his techniques, though Paul’s style was more thrusting hard fast and deep, until he came hard, pushing it as deep inside you as it’d go. Selfish maybe, but his energy was infectious. His stamina left you feeling sufficiently satisfied, and his enjoyment was what ultimately turned you on.

Soon Paul was rocking his hips in rhythm, quite comfortable. His orgasm began to build up again.

You rolled him over, fucking him from behind. Paul braced his hands against the headboard. His face was red from the embarrassing position, but the new angle made the prosthetic directly hit his prostate with each thrust. You wrapped your hands around his chest, trying to go deeper. Paul let out a cry with every thrust.

“See, now I can do this.” You said. You reached under him, holding his dick, stroking it in rhythm with the thrusts. He began whining more, and precum was dripping onto the sheets. You’d also gotten some lubrication on them from before. Perhaps you should get them washed as a courtesy to the hotel staff. You could feel how desperate he was now, his precum was sufficient lubrication to jack him off, red hot, hard, and throbbing in your hand.

You wouldn’t avoid touching his dick since it was his first time, but eventually you’d like to see if he could come from getting fucked alone. You were excited at the possibilities. Fucking him against a wall with him struggling to stand upright, making him watch himself in a mirror to show him how lovely he looks right now. The excitement caused you to pick up your pace, Paul shouting in response. Your bare chest pressed against his back, your nose in his neck and hair. His warm body felt heavenly under you, and you inhaled the scent of his shampoo combined with his natural one, stronger than earlier.

His voice got higher and higher, crossing his four octave range. He thrusted into your fist, pressing back into the prosthetic, his pride subdued as he desperately chased his release. He was shouting illegible things through his pants, an odd “please” and “baby!” here and there.

When it seemed that he was almost there, you turned him back over, taking his mouth again, you picked up the pace trying to push him over the edge. He whined loudly through his nose, and you felt the air against your upper lip.

He came into your hand, releasing more than usual. He must've surpassed his highest note when he shouted, arching his back. You fucked him through it, his legs tight around you, making sure he released every drop.

“Shut the HELL UP!” shouted a booming voice from the room next door. A fist pounded against your shared wall until Paul’s noises subsided.

After he was finished, and dizzy from the intense orgasm, you slipped out of him. In all honesty, you were a bit sad that you couldn’t cum inside, claiming him, and watch it leak out.

Your eyes moved to his fluid pooling on his soft stomach, his chest. A more primitive part of you took over, cleaning his pale flesh off with your tongue. He shuddered underneath you, unwilling to move. He had a show tonight, hopefully he’d recover by then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of the Prologue! The story will still be chronological, in line with the definition of anthology. Soon, 1963!


	6. 14 February 1963

Paul’s success in England just kept getting better. In fact, he spent the 11th recording his first studio album, the session lasting from 10am to 10pm. He was regularly playing at various venues, not only the cavern and the odd show elsewhere. There was no indicator of it slowing down.

He was busier as his fame increased, but he always made time to rawdog you in a supply closet, or lay down and moan while you played with his sweet body. Today he’d played at a well known venue in the city: the Locarno Ballroom.

You wanted to get him something nice to show your appreciation and congratulate him. Earlier this week, you’d gone to a lingerie store. The store was having a sale on pink and red garments to celebrate the holiday. You browsed the little store, the busts dressed in things ranging from structured push ups to satin bralettes.

You found something that caught your eye. Seeing the way the ethereal fabric draped from the hanger, you knew immediately that it was perfect. You brought it to the counter, placing it in front of the woman working the register.

“Good choice, I’m sure your man will love it.” She said as she folded it. The light from the windows hit the garment as it moved, causing shimmery highlights to appear.

“Hope so.” You said. You could only picture how nice it would look on him. His body couldn’t be mistaken for a woman’s obviously, but it would compliment his pale skin so nicely, draping over his body’s curves as he moved. You took the paper bag from her, then left the store.

——

You picked him up at the ballroom. Paul was revved up after the show, a light sheen of sweat on his face, still unable to keep still. As soon as he saw you he pressed his plush lips to your in a salty kiss, you could feel his quick heartbeat. His eyes were wide open and glassy, still smiling from the performance.

You took him back to the room. Once you closed the door Paul pushed you against it, attacking your neck. He pressed his body tightly against yours, and you could feel his violent heartbeat against you. He smelled strongly of energy. As the contours of his body pressed deeper against yours, you could tell he was hard. He sloppily attacked your mouth next, not very mindful of hitting the target.

It seemed that performing didn’t just excite him mentally. The cheering and shouting fed Paul’s ego, and nothing turned him on like praise and validation. The show would end, and he’d still be riled up. He needed to release that pent up energy somehow.

You would let him take you right then and there against the door, then eventually the floor, but you had something special for him tonight.

“I got you a present,” you said, moving your head away to speak.

“Hmm, really?” He was by your ear now, leaving wet marks.

After a moment he let go of you, and you got the bag off the dresser.

You slowly pulled it out, revealing the silky sheer fabric. You’d bought a sweet pink babydoll negligee. It had thin satin straps, a low sweetheart neckline that would loosely cling to his chest, cinch just above the waist, then transition to the light flowy bottom half. The neckline had some lace, but you didn’t want to go overboard with frills as to make it seem like a joke or costume. It was perfect for his figure, not a woman’s, but with subtle curves.

“Want to try it on?”

He nodded.

You went to undress him. Paul had been wearing one of the suits he wore during performances. You loved masculine clothing on him as well. The trousers flattered his legs well, high waisted, accentuating his hips where the shirt tucked in. The jacket would show off the curve of his back, though concealing some things, leaving it to the imagination. His beauty was in the dichotomy of his feminine and masculine traits.

You took off his jacket, then unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off. You moved down his body to his shoes, taking your time to unzip them. You liked the Chelsea boots he wore. They held his feet in such a graceful position, you especially liked the low heel. You slid your hand over the shape of it, over the arch past his heel.

You moved back up to his trousers, undoing them and sliding them off. His briefs wouldn’t go with the delicate fabric, so you removed those as well. The negligee came with a matching bottom, but you didn’t think It’d uh, hold everything in. It wasn’t a g-string, but these new styles were more revealing, delicate with matching lace around the edges.

You knew you made the right choice when you slipped the garment over his head. As you expected, the bottom portion draped over him beautifully. The fabric was a bit sheer, the outline of his body quite visible, and you could see his chest through the bodice. It ended just below the curve of his hip. If he walked it would float around him, flowing behind him with each stride.

You admired Paul’s masculine characteristics too. Rather than make them see exaggerated and silly, the garment rather complimented them. His large hands and forearms dusted with dark hair, was fine contrast against the pale lace. The negligee exposed a bit of his back, flattering his curve but also the slight definition in his shoulders.

You put the matching bottom on, but it was expectedly struggling to contain Paul’s erection. It strained against the satin material, the top half of it was left uncovered anyway. His soft pubic hair poked out of the sides and top of it.

Paul felt the delicate material between his forefinger and thumb.

“How do I look?” He said humorously. He posed in a girlish manner, as if he were a playboy centerfold. You were unironically mesmerised by his facial expression, head tilted to the side, upward glance, raised eyebrows and parted mouth. He had his finger on his bottom lip.

You laid down, becoming him closer. He entered you swiftly, excitement from the show still very much there. He buried his head in your neck, and you ran your hands up his back under the negligee, feeling the delicate fabric graze against you.

Paul was hard and fast when he fucked, going in as deep as he could. The material draped over his behind, the front of it pooling at your abdomen. One of his hands was holding your right thigh up, pulling your hips closer, going in deeper. His body moved over yours, his eyes were gently shut as he made the sweetest noises, deeper than the ones he made when he was the one getting fucked.

His face was close, his lips grazing against yours slightly every time he moved. They were slightly parted, small breaths falling against your lips.

He sat up straight, still moving inside you. He held your leg to his body, leaving white marks in his grip. The neglige draped downward again, flowing around him with each thrust. It was long enough that it still ended at your lower navel, covering where he was connected to you. He was lost in sensation, eyes still closed. His lips were pink and spit slicked from the previous attention.

“I’m close,” he said. ”I want to cum riding you.”

You nodded.

He pulled out, and you put on the prosthetic. You prepared him for a minute, but he quickly became frustrated.

“S’fine! J’st fuck me aleady!”

You pushed into him, he squealed at the sensation. He must’ve liked the slight stretch from the hasty transition.

“Oooh baby!” He exclaimed

He spread his legs far apart, coaxing you deeper. He had one of his silly grins on his face. He stretched his arms around the back of your neck. The negligee splayed around him, sliding across midsection with each movement.

Paul had asked to be on top, so after he got used to the size, you pulled him up.

He braced his palms on you for grounding. He shifted, experimenting with moving atop you. His thighs fell on either side of your body, the fabric clinging to them, and covering your midsection. The negligee pulled away from his body slightly where his erection pushed out.

“Am I too heavy?” He said.

“No, you’re quite alright.”

The upward angle combined with the heavenly garment made him look angelic. He was no angel though, lustful, controlling, prideful. He had a filthy mouth too.

He soon found a rhythm, and began to ride you smoothly. He had control over the speed and angle. He grinned wide, releasing joyful sounds. His eyes were slightly open, unfocused and gazing upward. The fabric fluttered around him as he rose and fell, while leaking arousal left wet spots whenever the swollen head grazed against it.

“Beautiful Paul.” You cooed up at him. “Gorgeous Paul.”

He moaned in response. You knew he had some sort of praise fetish. You gently ran your hands up his bare sides, the nightgown gathering around your wrists where they met. He was getting close, moving erratically. He couldn’t get himself off if he didn’t move, but it was becoming more difficult to concentrate.

“Come on darling,” you said. “You’re so close.”

You wrapped your hand around his dick under the negligee, it moved in your hand in accordance with his movements.

He got sloppier, his voice got higher. You tightened your grip.

He finished on you, hot bursts of cum landing on your stomach and chest. He arched his back, moaning loudly like always.

——


	7. 26 April 1963

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the outline and rough drafts done now! 
> 
> I realized I wasn’t editing as thoroughly as I’d like, so I hope the coherence will be a bit better. My ADHD makes my writing style kinda erratic lol.

A few nights ago Paul had been plowing you from on top. He liked getting railed, but liked railing you just as much. You laid back and enjoyed his administrations, watching his cute face contort in pleasure and excitement. However, there was something of interest you took note of that night. 

You were grabbing his chest for grounding as he moved, Paul’s skin was soft and felt nice against your hands as always. He was heated up, heart beating fast along with his quick breathing and sweet noises. 

What you noticed was, whenever your thumbs grazed harder against a nipple, his hips shuddered. Paul was knocked off pace for a moment. He would gasp.

Paul likely didn’t notice, too focused on the task at hand. The touches only feed into his lust. 

You wanted to explore this further.

That evening, you removed Paul’s shirt, but not his trousers. You bound his hands together behind him to the headboard. That way he could sit up comfortably, but not lean forward more than you wanted him to, and not use his hands. 

You began by caressing Paul’s bare chest. He leant into it, enjoying the contact. You massaged his sides, his shoulders, his pectorals. He had his eyes closed in a pleased expression. He liked when the attention was on him.

Paul’s nipples were flat. Masculine in that aspect, but his chest was soft. They were a nice shade of pink, similar to his lips. 

You revealed your true motives. You ran each of your palms up his chest, applying decent pressure. The pressure made your hands drag over his nipples, stimulating them. Without much thought, Paul leaned into them, humming in pleasure. 

You smiled. So he did enjoy it. You switched to that, rubbing the cute buds in a circular motion. Paul cracked his eyes open, a bit perturbed.

“What’re you doing?” He said. His voice was breathy and a bit uneven. 

“Touching you.” You said. 

You continued, and they began to harden, pushing against your fingertips. Paul made no move to shy away, though he could. He was leaning further into it if anything. You teased them between your fingers, rubbing your thumbs into the protrusions.

“Don’t,” Paul said unconvincingly. His voice was soft, and he was still leaning into the touches. 

Paul squirmed, a shiver running through him. He must be conflicted, not wanting to demonstrate that he’s enjoying it, but not wanting to pull away. Paul could be so prideful sometimes, at his own expense.

You stopped your movement, placing your palms firmly against his chest. You kept them completely still, not giving him the desired stimulation of them dragging against him. 

“Be honest.” You said.

“I don’ touch them! S’embarassing!” Paul said, shifting. You could tell he was getting frustrated by the lack of movement. You didn’t give him anything. 

You waited longer. Paul whined. He raised his chest up so that your hands finally grazed against him.

You began to touch him again, lightly. You grazed your fingertips very delicate against the tips of his nubs. Paul tried to lean in, chase your warm hands, so you pulled away.

“You like it, don’t you?” You said. 

“No.” Paul said quietly, barely escaping his lips. His voice still wasn’t very convincing. 

You waited, looking at him. Your hands were in your lap. Paul seemed to get impatient. He couldn’t touch himself, and he missed your soft hands on him, feeling untethered. He thrust his chest forward involuntarily.

“Tell me,” You said sweetly. 

Paul let out an uncomfortable whine, closing his eyes. He rocked forward again.

“Fine!” he whispered harshly. “Just keep touchin’ me, please.”

You put your hands back on him, feeling his tension melt.

You pressed your fingers harder against him, kneading deeper. You twisted his puffies between your fingers, pulling lightly, stroking them just to see how the hard nubs snapped back into place.

Paul’s jaw was slack, not quite sticking out his tongue, but not quite keeping it in either. His eyelids fluttered. The poor thing must've been denying himself this sensation for much too long. His moans were delicious and low, breathy.

Finally, you brought your lips to his chest. You experimented with sucking, pressing your tongue flat against them, trying to coax different noises out of Paul. His eyes were closed, savoring the sensation. He made the loveliest “ah” sounds, humming low in his throat. 

As you continued, his arousal grew. You began to see a wet spot appear right where his tip strained against his trousers. Paul must be desperate in there, throbbing against the coarse material, pretty and red by now. He rocked his hips along with your movements, unable to touch himself. It must be torturous, however he seemed too distracted to take note.

Paul was lightheaded, all the blood rushing...elsewhere. His pride had left him as he strained against the bindings, wanting _more_ , wanting the touches to be _harder_. His eyes were teary, unfocused, cheeks pink. His mouth was slightly parted, showing his cute teeth. Paul whined and hummed, leaning forward. He sat with his knees set far apart, trying not to further irritate his straining arousal.

You wanted to push it further, see how far just touching his chest could take him. Paul wasn’t even begging you to touch his dick, much less undo his fly. His nipples were soft and puffy, swollen now. They were over sensitized yet begging for more. 

It wasn’t the same as touching his dick, there was an end to that. Paul would eventually reach orgasm, then soften, becoming sleepy. With his chest, it was an endless increase of sensitivity. Paul could whine and cry for hours, always wanting more, but never able to find release.

You took pity on him. You took a hand off his chest so you could undo his fly, give him relief of the strain at least. Paul whined piteously at the lack of contact as he thrust his chest out. His eyes were closed, needing your hands back on him.

You returned the hand, thinking it over. You kept both of them on his chest, but climbed onto Paul’s lap, straddling him. You were still wearing your skirt and other things, but you could feel the heat radiating from the strain in his trousers. 

Paul cried out when you pressed yourself against it. He needed relief so badly, and the feeling of your entrance was too much. 

You began to grind down into him, sliding yourself up and down the clear outline in his pants. Paul’s eyes were shut as he tilted his head back. Your hands still played with his chest, tugging, pressing, stimulating it. His sounds were high and pained. 

It wasn’t too far into the grinding that he released into his trousers with a shout. He arched his back, pushing his chest harder into your hands. You pinched as hard as you could, causing his multi-range vocals to go up to B5. 

He fell back against the headboard, landing on the pillows. You undid his bindings. There were slight marks on his wrists from all the tugging. 

-

You began to greet Paul by hugging him from behind. You subtly pressed your fingertips to his chest, finding your target, which always made him jump or quietly moan. 

* * *

**This installment has been brought to you by:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I hate the word “nipples”. They’re such a great body part but have such a stupid name. Also “cock” sounds wrong to me, so I don’t use it much. I can’t not call them “nipples” though! “Buds” is still strange to me, but I can’t just say that every time. “Puffies” is kinda cute, but way too English.


	8. 7 June 1963

Paul’s group was now touring with Roy Orbison, and they had just finished a performance in Glasgow. 

The hotel room Paul was staying in was a bit cold. Even in June, Scotland was known to have lower temperatures. This would do well with what you had planned for tonight. 

You rid Paul of his black turtleneck. It was a good look for him, his brown hair and the dark fabric making his pretty face stand out. It brought out his arched eyebrows and long eyelashes. The soft warm material hugged the contours of his body very well. 

You took off the rest of his clothing, trousers and all.

Paul let you bind his wrists with satin, and you covered his eyes with a blindfold. 

You’d bought a flat paintbrush the other day from a nearby store. The bristles were only about a centimeter long. You dipped it in a nearby water glass, then touched the tip of it to Paul’s bare chest. 

Paul jumped at first contact, not expecting the sensation of wet bristles against his skin. The wetness made him take notice of the cool air. 

He trembled as you ran it slowly down to where his pubic hair began, then back up to the dip in his chest. He sunk his head into his shoulders, giggling when you ran it across his adam’s apple. 

“Is it ticklish?”

“Yes,” he said, snickering. 

Paul’s breath stalled when you ran it back down again. He raised his hips off the bed in anticipation. You instead missed the area entirely, running the brush down his hip bone, then his inner thigh. Paul whined. He was beginning to get hard at the anticipation.

“Don’t want to rush things, Paul.” You said sweetly.

You took his heated length in your hand, just holding it. Paul jumped when you pressed the cool bristles flat against his cockhead. 

You encircled the head of him with your brush, causing him to hold his breath. You focused on his slit, spinning the bristles across it, back and forth. It smeared the precum that was starting to appear.

After teasing the poor thing for a bit, you made a slow swipe down his length, down the curved spine of it. You stalled at the base, then ran it back up. You stopped at his frenulum, running the bristles up and down there.

Paul had never felt this sensation before, getting hot and bothered by the teasing stimulation. The bristles left behind trails of moisture, making the cold air hit his heated arousal.

“Make sure to keep still, Paul.” You said.

He shifted his hips as you kept holding his shaft, your right hand administering the brush strokes. He moved his pretty wrists in the satin bindings.

You stroked down his length again, over his perineal raphe. You moved it down his inner thigh.

Paul groaned in frustration as you returned to moving the bristles over his entire body. You ignored him, enjoying tracing his contours too much. It slicked down his soft body hair, leaving a wet trail. You moved the brush down his sides, along the curve of his soft stomach.

Paul gasped when you touched it to his nipple. You encircled the areola, making it bud up. He arched his chest into the brush. 

You ran the bristles back and forth, catching on the protrusion. It made Paul’s breaths get more shallow. He moved his hips slowly matching your pace, fucking into nothing. Paul didn’t seem to even mind the state of his dick, a bead of precum leaking down his shaft. 

You began to move the brush up and down the middle of his chest. He cried at the loss of stimulation, the strokes too close to where he wanted it.

You moved the brush down the middle of his body again. He jerked his hips up angrily as you reached his navel.

“Patience,” You said.

You held his shaft again, and ran the brush quickly up and down the spine. Paul made a sweet “ah” sound. He twisted in his binds.

“What do you want, Paul?” You whispered.

“...baby…” Paul said under his breath. He raised his hips.

“Yes, Paul?” you said.

Paul rolled his hips again, moving himself in your grip. He grazed himself against the bristles. Another “ah” sound. His voice was getting so breathy and high.

Paul was nearly there already. He could never learn to control that knob of his. It was already getting so pink, swelled up, and needy. It would feel so nice inside you, but he was already so close...

Oh! You had just the thing.

While at the same store where you’d bought most of Paul’s gifts, you’d picked up a very interesting device. It was a little silver ring. The woman at the register had told you it was meant to delay a man’s orgasm. 

You got a bit worried, imagining it tight on his base. You didn’t want to cut off the blood flow. The lady at the register assured you: “your loverboy would be quite alright”.

You brought the brush back, then ran a finger down his length. It was so hot, and you felt the heartbeat against your fingertip.

“Let me know if it's too uncomfortable, Paul.” You said.

You slid the ring down his shaft, tapping it where it fit snugly around his base.

“Hmm?” Paul shifted his hips, getting accustomed to the cold metal. He couldn’t see it with his eyes covered.

You wrapped your hand around his member, squeezing tightly, and began to stroke him off. 

Paul moaned loudly, thrusting up into your hand. You began to go faster, and he got louder, thinking his release was nearing.

He slowed his movement, confused. It wouldn’t come. He tried again, but got the same result. He couldn’t reach his orgasm, being held at the edge of it. 

Paul grew frustrated, humming uncomfortably.

“Looks like it works,” You said happily.

You ran your thumb over his agitated, weeping head. You could do whatever you wanted, and Paul wouldn’t cum from it.

You climbed onto him, enveloping his perfectly shaped length. He cried at the sensation.

You enjoyed the feeling of his heat and arousal inside you. His noises were getting desperate. He couldn’t even see what you would do next, or grab your hips. All he could do was thrust into you, chasing an orgasm that would never come. 

You always gave him what he needed eventually though. You couldn’t say no to a sweet face like that.

“Paul, you feel so nice,” You sighed, bracing a hand on his lower navel. 

He made such ugly noises, but somehow they worked in his voice.

You slowed down after you got sufficient enjoyment from his lovely erection. You reached down to cup his face between your hands, stroking his cheeks. 

You slipped off his blindfold. His eyes squinted at you, but it didn’t seem like he was taking in much of what he was seeing.

“Hello, beautiful.” You said.

You waited a moment before lifting yourself off him.

“Your turn now.”

Paul let you roll him over. He rested his cheek on the pillow, closing his eyes.

You picked the brush back up, and ran it over the curve of his back, taking note of the reactions you got from different areas. You traced his shoulder blades, his spine, the curve of his ass. His back was arched, tilting it up invitingly. You ran the brush down the back of his thighs, then around the inside of them. This made Paul shiver, arching his back more. 

You put the brush aside, then began placing kisses down his back. You didn’t want to tease him for much longer.

You attached the prosthetic and slowly entered him. You weighed down his back, and wrapped your arms around his body. Paul sighed as it slid inside him nicely. 

Paul began to get worked up again, pushing back against you and whining. You didn’t think he’d last very long, but it was taking much longer than usual. He only kept getting more desperate, louder, uninhibited. He should’ve cum by now. Why wasn’t he…?

Ohhh.

You reached under him and slid the ring off. You barely got a thrust in before he reached a violent release, making the ugliest sweetest noises. He shot onto the sheets, against your hand.

“Sorry about that, Paul.” You said. 

You kissed his damp neck.


	9. 20 September 1963

It was a Friday evening, and you decided to indulge in your favorite meal: Paul’s erection. 

He sat against the headboard, sighing as his left hand lightly held onto your hair. You took your time going down on him, enjoying every minute of it. He was so warm and heated in your mouth, the heartbeat pumping through it, twitching when you did something he liked, It was all quite delectable. The skin was so smooth, the head of it rubbery. You could taste as well as smell his arousal.

Paul made sweet noises from the bottom of his throat. His eyes were peacefully closed, and he had his mouth open in a small smile. 

“Swap?” he said.

You let it fall from your mouth. You looked up at him.

“Swap?” You said. 

He gave you a sly smile.

“How about I take care of yer knob for once?” Paul said.

His voice was playful, but he had a way of giving it an edge. It was a talent, conveying sexual desire through that innocent face. 

Paul had a sunny disposition. His childish enthusiasm gave many the impression that he was more innocent than the others in his group. Paul didn’t drop that demeanor completely during sex, but behind the eyes it was clear what he wanted. He wasn’t the beacon of purity they painted him as.

“Suck off...the prosthetic?” You said

He nodded, a giddy expression about him.

You put it on, and Paul bent over in front of it, wrapping his delicate hands around the silicone shaft. His eyes were lidded as he looked up at you. No doubt that if you were really a man, you’d be at full mast.

Paul stuck out his tongue, bringing it to the tip. It seemed that he was mimicking what you would do when sucking him off, though Paul had an erotisism of his own. He tested taking a bit of the prosthetic in his mouth, pretty pink lips wrapping around it.

Paul moved his head further, looking up at you, seemingly enjoying the feeling of it filling his throat up. There was some amusement in his expression, seeing the irony of sucking off a plastic shaft. The action was simultaneously turning him on as well.

You held onto his hair lightly, gently tugging it. He moaned around the object. 

“You like this, Paulie?” You said teasingly. 

He looked at you, lips tilting upwards around the intrusion sardonically. Paul closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, trying to go deeper. You bet it would’ve felt incredible to be inside his warm wet mouth.

He went down on you as if you could really feel it. You knew Paul had a bit of an oral fixation, always bringing his fingers to his lips. He loved being kissed, a tongue sliding against his, as well as eating a girl out. He had such a pretty mouth too, smaller with pink parted lips, little rabbit teeth. God knows where it's been.

Paul went as deep as he could, gagging. He was very passionate going about it, licking the sides and all. Even though you couldn’t feel the sensations, seeing him do this was thrilling enough (especially when his lidded eyes flitted up to yours, a smug expression on as he took more of it in his throat).

Your hand was still fisted in his hair. Paul made deep sounds of pleasure, as if he was enjoying a lovely meal. His hand moved down to his arousal, already exposed from before. He began to gently stroke himself as he sucked off the prosthetic.

“God, that's nice,” you swooned, pressing Paul’s head harder.

You knew praise would give Paul a thrill. He moaned in response, hand tightening around his shaft. 

You played with the hair in your grip. You tugged on it again, making Paul’s already lidded eyelids flutter. That would've made you unload right then and there. 

“Want me to push your head down, Paulie?”

He opened his eyes, raising his eyebrows. He nodded and smiled around the prosthetic, the thought exciting him.

He closed his eyes as you began to push him down. He gave a throaty moan.

“Hit my leg if it’s too much.” You said.

Paul began to toss himself off quicker, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

You fucked his throat at a healthy pace, getting your thrill from his reactions alone, his gulping noises and choked moans. He tried to go deeper of his own accord. Paul’s hair felt nice in your hands, his body heat and condensation warming it. It was very soft. 

Paul grabbed your hips, forcing the prosthetic deeper as a high whine escaped him. His eyes were squeezed shut, wrinkling his nose. He had taken his hands off his member, but he rutted against the crumpled sheets, riding himself through it. You stroked his hair as he came, praising him. You told him how good he was, how pretty his noises were.

When he came down from it, he let the prosthetic fall from his mouth with a wet pop. He leaned his forehead against your stomach as you stroked his neck, damp from the excitement.


	10. 28 December 1963

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what a night! Late December back in sixty three, what a very special time for me. As I remember, what a night!

Paul had been invited to an end of year dinner at some elderly socialite’s house. It was a very formal event, the guests all being rather well off. This was all very new to Paul, quite different from his upbringing. He wasn’t born wealthy, the success really hit him like a bus, thrusting him into this new environment. 

Everyone was dressed very proper, sitting around the large table as they droned on about English politics. Those posh accents could be very grating on the ears.

Paul rested his head in his hand, loosely following the conversation. He had begun to suspect that he was invited as more of a prop, an up and coming pop musician.

He looked very sweet when bored. Paul’s lazy expression along with his soft cheek resting on his palm made him look quite cherubic. He looked around the room, half heartedly taking note of the surroundings.

You couldn’t help it. You rested your right hand on his thigh, stroking it with your thumb.

He shot you a look, but made no move to remove your hand.

“What does Paul think of dialectic materialism?” One of them said.

“Paul?”

“Wha?” Paul hung his mouth open, giving a legitimate response to the loaded question. 

This amused the dinner guests, and they took a moment to enjoy his wit and charm. You squeezed his thigh, making him give a laugh.

You kept your hand there. You didn’t look at it, but felt it up with touch alone. They were so supple, stretching out the fabric nicely. You curled your fingers around the inside of his thigh, knuckles grazing lightly against his crotch. Paul exhaled pleasantly.

It was nice grounding for both of you, having your hand there, but the touches on his more sensitive areas was beginning to get him a bit flustered. 

“...very good. Paul is in the music industry. Go on, Paul, tell us about the trends among the youth.”

“Hmm?” Paul perked up at hearing his name. “I couldn’t tell ya, they jus’ like us. Maybe s’ our hair. y’know.”

You noticed his dick stirring and moved your hand closer to it. Your movements were all very discreet, gentle touches so that nobody else would be the wiser. The long tablecloth provided a good cover.

Paul didn’t acknowledge your administrations, eyes fixed on the other guests. He was more agreeable than before though, smiling and nodding. He pressed against your hand, sometimes bouncing his leg. 

He was full mast by now. Paul was still grinning dazedly at the guests, but not following the conversation. He sipped his wine as his eyes wandered upwards, humming under his breath.

You never did so much that he’d get close, wanting to keep him decent during dinner. Paul’s erection grew more strained, but he didn’t complain, getting a thrill from the semi-public touches. The dinner was much more entertaining now.

-

By the time your visit had concluded, Paul was pretty pent up. He walked behind you, hand on your shoulder, concealing his predicament. You said your parting words, thanking the host, complimenting the food. 

You put on your coats and left the warm house, the dark night air hiding a good amount of things. Paul tugged you by the arm, hastily walking you to his car.

He swung open the passenger side door, all but tossing you inside. Paul fell onto you, slamming the door behind him. His mouth attached to your neck, not holding back his teeth. The erection you’d been messing with the entire night dug into your navel as he ground into you. Paul’s mind was far gone by this point, overtaken by lust. 

Paul stretched out his arm, feeling around to find the lever that’d recline the seat. He pulled it, causing you to fall back. Your breath was knocked out when he landed on you.

“You’re a fuckin’cunt, y’know that?” he groaned low into your ear. His weight bore down on you, but you had no intention to move. “I’ll ‘have ya now, prick teaser.”

You pulled your skirt higher, smiling up at him. He’d been very patient all dinner. He’d have his dessert. 

Paul’s face lit up. He rushed to undo his trousers, relieving the strain. He wasn’t out a second before swiftly entering you. 

He began to fuck you harshly, relieving the pent up energy. His hands were bunched up in your skirt as he panted. His breaths were labored, sweet noises escaping his lips. 

You pressed against Paul’s warm body. The cold air from outside had settled in the car, though your combined breaths were heating it up. 

There was the added thrill of being seen. There weren’t many pedestrians out this time of night, and even if there were, they wouldn’t take note of the car’s dark interior. The probability was never zero though...

The moonlight hit Paul’s features, bathing him in a white glow. It gleamed against his eyes and wet lips. You gripped his lower back as he tried to go deeper inside you.

“Ooh, baby” He purred.

Paul got over the initial excitement, and began to get slower and more passionate. His heated organ warmed you up inside as it slid against your walls, twitching inside you. He plunged deeper with each thrust, and you enjoyed clenching around him to see his reactions. His erect member felt so organic, a mind of its own down there. You felt sad that you couldn’t give him the same sensation with your prosthetic. 

Paul moaned from deep in his throat, resting his head by yours, lips on your ear. 

Your leg was braced against the glovebox, and you held onto him tightly, wanting him flush against you. He was still wearing his coat, it being too cold to undress in the car. (It’s not like he would’ve taken the time anyway.) 

He was still very warm, hot audible breaths against your cheek, body weight on top of you. You could even feel his strong heartbeat as he rocked against you.

He gripped your hips tighter, getting closer. He gave a few more deep thrusts before unloading into you, low sounds coming from his throat.

You sighed. His hot release felt incredible shooting into you, warming you up, and his sounds were honey to your ears. It was all very therapeutic after those awful posh accents. 

The only sound in the night was Paul catching his breath as he softened inside out you. After the hit of adrenaline was over, the cold air began to seep in the cracks of the car, though his body remained warm. It was a great way to ring in the year. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what a night. Why’d it take so long to see the light? Seemed so wrong, but now it seems so right. What a lady, what a night!


	11. 11 March 1964

Paul and his group were now filming a picture that featured them. It was a low budget one, hoping to capitalize on the group’s success quickly.

You adored the dark suits he wore, accentuating his dark hair and lovely eyebrows. With his success came more money that could be spent on clothing, the ability to afford tailoring. Paul’s suits clung to him beautifully, showing off his subtle hips, fitting him perfectly.

His hands were tied behind him with satin as you pressed your hand to his clothed erection. You’d been palming at it for a while as he strained against the fabric, running your hand up and down. You pressed your thumb against the spine, firmly tracing the curve. It was a pleasure to rub him through the fabric, his desperation restricted from the material. There was something thrilling about nothing being shown, yet Paul coming apart at the seams.

“I love these suits you wear. They fit you so _well_ , don't they?” You pressed harder to accentuate your words. “But there’s just so many buttons,”

The only downside to his suits were all the buttons. It was a chore to undo all of them. There were his coat buttons, the ones on his vest, then on his shirt. You had to unzip his boots, undo his trousers, then unzip the fly, all to reveal that lovely pale skin. It was simpler to just avoid all that. 

Paul was just as ravishingly clothed as disrobed. He was fully covered besides his face and hands, but it drew you in as much as him in lingerie.

Paul spread his long legs for better access. He was clouded with lust, yet still worried about the fluid slowly leaking from his swollen cockhead.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He muttered, “m’gonna ruin the suit.”

“We’ll just get it dry cleaned.” You said.

Paul shifted in his binds, moving his hips closer. Despite himself, he wanted the touches.

His erection was pretty clear in the tight trousers his group wore. You could see the curve of his spine, as well as the indentation of the head. There was a slight dampness developing where his slit was.

You put your mouth to it, finding rough fabric instead of the delicate skin of his shaft. You could still feel the heat radiating through it, smell the need, and feel the desperate stiffness. It was so satisfying. Paul was always so poised and immaculate in dress. Now you could have it both ways, unravel him fully clothed.

You’d bought a hitachi, these neat little things from Japan. You turned it on, and pressed the end to where Paul’s frenulum would be. This got him more worked up, stiffening and moaning at the stimulation.

Paul arched his back. Obviously his movements were a bit more restricted, attempting to stretch himself as much as he wanted in the suit. His face was contorted in a silent scream, eyes shut tight as he pressed himself harder to the hitachi. You saw his member twitch in the fabric, obviously frustrated by the restrictive fabric.

You complied, pressing it harder. It would be much too cruel to take it away every time Paul leaned into it. You ran the end up and down his spine slowly. Paul’s voice was high pitched and cut off along with his shallow breaths. He ground into the hitachi fervently, his jaw slack, not preoccupied with his pride at the moment.

“ _Fuckin’ hell_!” He strained. 

Paul’s hips twitched, trying to avoid the intense sensation, but also wanting more of it. It was horribly unsatisfying, the vibrations right where he wanted them, but...muffled in a way. Paul wanted it directly on his erect shaft, against bare skin! He wanted you to press it right onto his frenulum where he was most sensitive, let him cum like that. 

The material of his trousers were much too restricting. Paul _could_ cum from this, but it was too much, yet not enough. He wanted his dick enveloped in your hot wet mouth. Christ, the restriction was near painful.

You ran it up and down slowly, the anticipation of it offering more of a thrill. Paul was becoming more desperate, seemingly holding back. You looked smugly at him. He’d cum in his trousers or not at all.

“Fuckin Christ, m’ gonna fuckin-” Paul groaned, shifting his hips again. 

He couldn’t touch himself with his hands bound and it was killing him. He couldn’t free himself from the strain. Pleasure buzzed in his abdomen, shooting straight to his dick. 

“Close? Go ahead, let it go, Paul.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. It was too much. He could feel it building inside him.

“Can’t…” Paul cried. His heightening voice gave away how close he was. He was whining. “M’gonna...the suit…”

“Come on, lovely, let me see it.” You cooed.

Paul’s mouth was open as he drew shallow breaths, his eyes squinted and pleading. He needed it badly. He whined again. He was still holding back, wanting to cum proper-like. It was getting more difficult with the intense vibrations, Paul shifting his hips around, though unable to pull away. He needed to learn to take what he was given.

You didn’t relent, if anything, pressing harder. Paul’s hands clenched in his restraints, so pretty and delicate. 

Paul shook his head jerky, mouth still open and panting. His eyes were unfocused and teary. His hips gave a few rough jerks, his voice getting even higher.

Suddenly, he arched his back dramatically. His voice was now low, deep from his throat. A beautiful sound, truly.

His hips shuddered, shivers running up his body. A wet spot began to appear around his clearly outlined head.

“Looks like you couldn’t keep it in after all.” You said smugly. The desire was clear in your voice.

Paul rode it through, pressing his head into the pillow. He pushed against the hitachi which you kept firmly in place. He made audible gasps, his pretty eyelids fluttering.

“Let it all out, McCartney.” You said with lust. “You’ve earned it. C’mon...”

Paul cried out in response, his eyes squeezing shut. He rolled his hips with it, the last of his fluid being released into his trousers. Quite the erotic sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were probably no hitachis in 1964. Sorry for the historical inaccuracy in my beetle pornography :(


	12. 6 May 1964

You’d finally gotten the overworked bastard back to his room. Paul was about ready to jump into it, pretty mouth hot on your neck, large though slender hands grabbing at your waist. His strength was always a surprise. Not quite a delicate flower, him.

Paul moved to tug your dress up, but you stopped him.

“I want to watch you tonight.” You said.

“Huh?”

“Go ahead, Paulie, toss yourself off tonight. I want to watch.”

He looked a bit surprised, but he backed off. 

Paul was already hard from anticipation, straining against his trousers as his legs shifted. He loosened his tie, hands a bit jittery from adrenaline. 

Paul backed away, resting on the pillows. He undid his fly, tentatively wrapping his hand around his shaft. He moaned shakily as he squeezed it slowly.

Your eyes were fixed on him. You wanted to see how he did it himself, how he liked it.

Paul was hyper aware of being watched. He knew you’d watched him get off a thousand times, he wasn’t exactly shy, but it was different when every move was scrutinized. He felt exposed.

He moved his hand again, giving himself a slow stroke. Pleasure shot through his abdomen. Perhaps the nerves were making it more thrilling. He began to get into a rhythm, the familiar touch of his own hand, but he got tripped up upon meeting your eyes.

You smiled at him. His cheeks were flushed and a bit shaken.

“Go on,” You said. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

You watched his left arm move, tossing himself off slowly. His legs trembled at every particularly good stroke. You knew that no matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t please him the way his own hand could.

You watched him instinctively give himself the exact pressure, the perfect speed. He slowed down and sped up when he wanted, thumb grazing over his slit. It was all intuitive. He knew exactly what he needed next. 

Paul began to use both hands, getting lost in the moment. The right one toyed at his balls, the bolder stronger left one firmly stroking himself off.

You were resting your cheek on your palm, watching his captivating display, smile across your face.

“What’re you thinking of?” You murmured under your breath.

Luckily, that didn’t take him out of his focus. Without opening his eyes, Paul responded, voice soft and breathy from his lovely parted lips.

“Fuckin’ broad from the last concert.” He slurred. “She ‘had fuckin’ excellent knockers that’un. They moved as ‘she jump’d an’ screamed.” 

Paul’s voice devolved into a whine.

“Christ, her  _ ridin _ ’ me.  _ Good God _ !”

Paul was lost in his fantasies, pressure building in his sweet navel. He cracked open his eyes, looking at yours unfocused through his long eyelashes. His cheeks were a sweet shade of pink, his eyes cloudy with lust. He sped up as you watched his orgasm near. His breaths were getting more shallow. Your smile widened as he got more desperate for it.

“Stop now.” You said.

You could see the conflict flash across Paul’s face, but he begrudgingly retreated his hands. He looked at you miffed, his dick twitching in irritation at the sudden cease of stimulation. It was so pretty and red, swollen with need.

“I want to see you touch your chest.” You said.

He shifted his thighs, but began unbuttoning his top. He took it off, tossing it aside. He brought his hands to his soft chest, pressing down on each of them. Paul hummed at the contact, but hesitated to move.

“S’embarrasing.” He said, breathy from the touching.

“Still?” you said. “You let me touch there all the time.”

“Yeah, but s’different doing it m’self. S’different if s’ a girl doing it.”

“I won’t judge. Promise.” you said, eyeing him.

He closed his heavy eyelids, moving his hands to one of them. He pressed lightly, gently stroking it. Paul whined quietly. His calloused fingertips felt different than your smaller softer ones.

Paul’s mouth opened, breathing softly. He lost himself again, arching his back into his own touch. He murmured something inaudible from his lips.

Paul had trouble controlling himself, nearly falling forward when he leaned into it.

Paul was hunched over, his member twitching between his open thighs. He tended to forget about the poor thing whenever his nipples were touched. It got angrier and redder, a precum pooling by the slit. He could never be satiated by his chest alone, though.

“Stop now,”

Paul wasn’t in danger of cumming, but he was only getting himself more riled up, and could touch himself a long time in a trance.

“How about you use this on yourself?” 

You held out a vibrator you would sometimes use on him. It was around the size of your prosthetic, deep purple and curved to stimulate his prostate. Paul’s eyes widened.

“You don’t have to if it’ll embarrass you.” You said understandingly. “I could just ride you if you want.”

Paul considered it. His frustration won over. Having your eyes on him as he touched himself gave him a sick thrill. He’d already fucked you many times before, and he would do so again and again. He didn’t need much preparation for that, he could pull you into a closet and take you there. The wonders of a lubricated hole, always ready for him.

“No. I want to try’t” Paul muttered firmly.

He took the vibrator, but set it aside, lubricating his fingers. He leaned back on the pillows, and pushed one inside.

Paul hadn’t touched himself here before, it was always you doing it. That was thrilling in itself, his calloused fingers, much larger than yours. Like with his dick, he knew exactly what he needed. It felt heaven stretching him out. Paul let a moan escape.

He added another, pushing deeper. He could feel both sensations, his hot passage clenching around him as well as the feeling of his fingers inside. It felt different from a cunt, slightly tighter and not overtly wet, though soft and lubricated. The stretch was heavenly, as well as the appendages moving inside him.

You watched as he did it, which was rather erotic, Paul fingering himself. 

It was slightly different from tossing himself off, more vulnerable and exposed. His eyes were closed in concentration, a bead of sweat on his forehead. The way his face contorted wasn’t quite feminine, the skin a bit more firm. His eyes crinkled, lines that appeared from his quickness to smile. What a sight he was.

Paul’s head was rested on the pillows, dark eyelashes on his cheeks. His long legs were parted for access, his knees delicately bent, his back arched. 

He wasn’t focusing on it, being inadvertently seductive, mesmerizing. He was like this during the day come to think of it, his slight movements even drawing you in. He was captivating in any instance. All of it.

He began to get wrapped up in fingering himself. His fingers brushed against his prostate, and he focused on that spot, mouth opening in a silent cry. His eyebrows were drawn, breathing along with his motions. His thighs shifted, making room for himself. His member lay leaking on his soft stomach, irritated and still ignored, swollen and red from the previous edging.

One of Paul’s legs stretched out, disturbing the sheets with his foot. His lips moved in rhythm with his touches. Paul seemed about ready to finger himself to orgasm.

“Paul, do you want to use the prosthetic?” You said humorously.

He was taken out of it, eyes flitting open.

“Yeah.” he said.

Paul’s eyes wandered, and he reached out a hand, patting around before wrapping around the vibrator.

Paul blindly moved it to his entrance, sliding it over it before pushing it in. He let out a delicious low moan as it entered him.

Paul began to move it in and out at his own pace. His right hand found his needy arousal and slowly tossed it off in rhythim. He rolled his hips along with it all, his open mouth letting out obscene sounds, sweet in his voice.

“You’re doing so nice, Paul.” You cooed. “Go ahead and make yourself cum, sweet thing.”

Paul’s body released a slight tension upon hearing this. He continued pleasing himself in a most enrapturing way.

You watched him hungrily as he got closer to release. The muscles in his left arm tensed and contracted along with his movements. Paul had a softness to his body, but toned limbs. He had a strength to him as well, adding to his gentle beauty.

He let his release build up inside him, in no rush to finish. When Paul fucked you, he would go hard, building to a violent orgasm. Now he did it at his own pace, savoring it. He coaxed it out slowly.

Paul felt his release build up, and knew the moment it began. He gasped, letting his hand slowly tighten as his fluid began to release. He twisted his wrist, and pushed the vibrator deeper. Shivers ran up his legs then lower back, making such sweet noise. 

“Very good, Paul.” You said in admiration, voice low and breathy.

What an enthralling display. The waves came over him so naturally. The fluid escaped him, his irritated member finally finding relief, pulsing as he came. Paul’s delicate wrist flexed as he moved the vibrator in and out. His eyebrows were drawn and teeth gritted. He tilted his head further back. He cried and whined, through quieter, no sounds made in surprise.

Paul came down from it, slowly pulling it out. He rested his hand on his gently heaving chest, catching his breath.


	13. 19 June 1964

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! June 19th is Garfield’s birthday. He is a Gemini.

Paul lay on top of you the opposite direction. His weight bore down on you, but in a good way, making it difficult to breathe. His bare skin felt heavenly pressing down on yours, the heat warming you.

Additionally, him fucking your throat made breathing difficult. You noticed though, that he was holding back slightly, worried that it was a bit much for you.

You popped him out today your mouth, and he immediately raised his hips, taking the weight off.

“It’s alright, bunny. I can handle it.” You said.

“Are you sure m’not too heavy?” He said. His voice seemed a bit distant, coming from further down your body.

You stroked his bare thigh, the soft hair tickling your palm. You took him in your mouth again. 

The angle was different than what you were used to, but no less addicting. With the swollen heat filling your throat as well as his weight bearing down on you, you could barely breathe. The only breaths you could take were lungfuls of his condensated arousal. The intensity brought you immeasurable satisfaction. His distant sounds were sweet and deep.

Paul composed himself and put his mouth on you. 

Christ. Just knowing it was  _ his  _ mouth gave you a kick. His mouth was so dainty, those pretty delicate lips. His teeth drove you mad as well, those little rabbit things. A shot of pleasure went through you feeling them graze against your heat. 

You couldn’t see his face, but could only imagine what he looked like. He was good at it too. It seemed like he enjoyed doing it as well. He would look up at you, eyes intense and lidded with lust. It gave him a feeling of power, having this control over you. His long hair was a pleasure to tug and pull, very soft in your hands. He’d moan as you did it.

Paul gave another tentative thrust of his hips. You encouraged it, sucking it deeper, tightening your lips around his shaft. He groaned, and you could feel his hot breath against your arousal. You moved your head the extent you could, taking him deeper.

Paul enjoyed the stimulation, and you relished in the shivers running up his thighs. You caressed the firm yet soft skin, warm to the touch. You ran your hands up the underside of them, finding the more sensitive areas.

Paul was at work as well, focusing his attention on you. The heated moisture of his mouth was incredible, only egging you on in pleasing him. He really knew how to use his tongue and lips, rare for a man in 1964.

Though he was on top of you, you kept him well under your thumb. You had the control, hands moving over his sides and hips, holding his head firmly in place with your legs. 

Paul took to the attention, getting more bold with his movements. Your enthusiasm swayed his worries of being too much.

He arched his back into it, eating you out more harshly. If you let him, he’d often revert to his energetic demeanor in bed. He was careful with it, but his use of his teeth drove you mad. Hell, you’d let him take a bite out of you and not mind.

His soft stomach pressed harder into yours with his back arched. You couldn’t breathe quite well. Paul was beautiful, but no less heavy. Much larger than you in fact, despite his femininity. There was something intoxicating about somebody so lovely yet powerful cutting off your oxygen supply. It only made you hungrier.

Paul began to not hold back with his thrusts, getting into a comfortable rhythm. You hummed in approval. You’d take whatever he gave you.

So you did. You took his length deep with pleasure, mouth watering as you grinned around the blunt object. You inhaled the scent of his arousal whilst taking in the air you could from your nose.

It felt like you were phasing in and out of reality, yet you were on cloud nine. A truly spiritual experience. You hummed around his shaft, his heated mouth still working you. You flexed your leg.

Paul was making the sweetest sounds as well, every breath and exhale hitting your heat. You groaned his name, but it came out garbled. He shifted his hips.

Before you knew it, he was releasing inside you, the heat of the shots filling your chest. You could feel his member pulsate better when it was in your throat you noticed. It was quite rhythmic, coming out in waves. Paul’s sounds synched with it as your head spun.

You felt rather lightheaded, but giddy with pleasure. You adored the taste, his built up arousal you’d been breathing in this entire time. You still had a spacey grin on your face, eyes unfocused.

Once Paul finished, he lifted off your body, relieving the pressure. His softening member left your mouth. You licked your lips, some drool had leaked from them, as well as Paul’s various fluids. You began to draw full breaths, your face pink and eyes wild.

“You good?” Paul said worried. He stared back at you as he re-situated himself.

You began to giggle deliriously, whilst still forcing in breaths.

“You good?” He repeated, more concerned.

You nodded your head as you laughed, eyes becoming a bit teary.  _ Worth it _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have reader get off, or describe sensations to much so it’s more personal, but in reality Paul knows the female orgasm is a myth <3


	14. 14 July 1964

Paul’s success came with plenty of women throwing themselves at him. 

He was already beautiful, getting a fair bit of attention, but it seemed the fame made him much more irresistible. Being who he was, Paul was much obliged to indulge in it.

You certainly weren’t naive to Paul’s love for fucking women. They could be gorgeous or plain, innocent or experienced, Paul didn’t mind. His passion for a good shag might even rival that of music. 

Despite his cute face, he wasn’t a beacon of purity. He loved their hands on him, a nice hot cunt to fuck.

It wasn’t that you were a sentimentalist. You didn’t really mind him sleeping around. He deserved it, reaping the fruits of his success. You liked the mental image of Paul with his silly grin, happily fucking various broads in rapid succession.

However, it rubbed you the wrong way whenever you heard news of his latest conquest, or saw physical evidence of it. 

Perhaps it was possessiveness. You hated the thought of him getting pleasure from others, them hearing his sweet noises. You didn’t like sharing your things.

Despite yourself, you found yourself being harder on him those nights where you found indications of his promiscuity.

You had his delicate wrists bound over his head, tied to the headboard, his fly undone. Paul’s lips were wet and raw, pink from being kissed so harshly. He was already quite hard, straining whilst exposed, though not getting any attention. 

You nipped at his neck, leaving little marks, and kept kissing him roughly, but all Paul did was raise his hips and whine. Such a needy thing. He needed to learn to wait for things.

He leaned into every touch, searching for your hands, begging for you to touch him closer. His voice was so sweet and hypnotic. You could nearly be swayed by his charms as everybody else was. All he got were “yes” and “of course” when it came to sex. Not tonight though.

You caressed his lower navel. A pleasant sensation, yet frustratingly close to where he needed it most. His pubic hair only but grazed your knuckles.

“Don’t be a _tease_ , sweet.” Paul whined.

He was trying to implement his famous charm, yet unable to keep his voice steady.

You simply shushed him. You went to unbutton his shirt. Paul’s tie was already loose, and you’d discarded his vest and suit jacket a while back.

You left his unbutton shirt hanging off him, and went to pull off his fitted trousers. Paul eagerly raised his hips, aiding you in hope for his reward.

You ran both your hands down one of his bare legs. He was always slender, yet he’d put on a slight amount of tone or fat, making his long legs shapelier if anything. It was heaven putting your hands on them, the soft hair.

You took your time on his fuzzy thighs, tracing the tone, caressing the sensitive inner areas where the softest hair was. 

Paul’s voice showed his enjoyment, but also his frustration. The entire night, you’d given his arousal virtually no attention. You hadn’t even palmed him through his trousers. He couldn’t even do much about it with his hands bound. 

He moved his thighs, trying to get your hands closer. That only made you move your hands lower down his legs, massaging the bend of his knee. He whined loudly at that.

You began to spread his thighs, not needing to apply much pressure as he opened them swiftly himself. Eager.

You put your mouth to the inside of them, kissing and biting the soft skin. The scent of him here was intense and intoxicating, though it originated from his arousal higher up

When you were relatively satisfied, you placed your palms flat on his thighs, sitting up. Paul looked at you with uncertainty, and a bit of frustration. You looked down at him, grinning at his predicament and adorably flushed cheeks.

Wordlessly, you began tracing the curves of his sides, squeezing the soft fat. You moved to his chest, and began feeling it up. Paul shut his eyes, savoring the sensation.

“So sensitive here…” you said, then slyly. “Say, do you have girls touch you here?”

Paul didn’t respond. Eyes still shut, he shook his head.

You massaged deeper, making him groan. He semi-consciously raised his hips, yearning for more stimulation. You pushed them down by his stomach, holding it there, giggling. Paul made a sound of indignation.

“You’re such an awful whore, Paul.” You cooed. Your voice remained sweet despite your word choice. “You need to learn to have some patience with these things.

He shook his head again, eyes shut tighter. He arched his back under your hold, opening his legs wider.

You slicked up your fingers, waiting no time in rubbing his perineum. 

You slipped your fingers in, finding his prostate occasionally, making him moan. He seemed happier now that he was getting attention, twisting and moving his body along with the touches. His dick kept getting more irritated though, leaking onto his stomach.

You had a vibrating toy. This one, unlike the previous one, was meant more for being fucked with instead of it being held there. It still curved to press into his prostate just right.

You turned it on, though only ran it over his body, just to mess with him. Paul still leaned into it, groaning in frustration. He knew it was better than if you just left him alone, tied and helpless.

You deliberately missed his arousal, running it over his hip. You teased his inner thighs for a good while, before you finally (very slowly) pushed it into him.

Paul whined loudly as you put it in. You stopped the teasing, moving it inside him, pushing into his prostate as it moved in and out

Paul writhed and cried in pleasure as you kept a steady rhythm. In, out, press, in, out, press. 

Paul couldn’t help but shift his hips uncomfortably the longer it went on. It felt nice, but he couldn’t get to that next step without direct stimulation. His dick leaked pitifully onto his stomach, red and throbbing. He could get close, but it wasn’t as satisfying without pleasure on that sensitive organ.

“Oh, won’t you please just touch me?” Paul groaned, his voice mumbly.

“Don’t want to.” You taunted, still moving the vibrator. 

You pressed a single finger to his navel, making him cry out from indignation. 

“Lord knows where that nasty thing’s been. Naughty little thing. Bet you don’t even wrap it do you?” You said.

Paul grumbled.

“What am I, a sailor?” He said angrily. He then took on a more pained tone, trying to garner sympathy. “You’re killin’ me here, baby. You’re killin’ me.”

Paul jerked his hips up, and you took your finger from his navel.

To be honest, it was difficult to resist putting your mouth on it. It looked delicious, all red and needy. It’d be hot and lovely against your tongue. The rubbery head was swollen, wet with his precum. This was just as much of a struggle for you. Additionally his sweet begging and pained expression made you want to give him anything he wanted. That was the pull of McCartney after all. It was impossible to say no to that face.

“Please, baby, please,” he blubbered from his wet parted lips. They were still raw from the harsh treatment. His sweet doe eyes were unfocused. All he could think about was getting off.

You increased the vibration and pressed it harder against his prostate. Paul threw his head back and silently screamed. He jerked his hips a few times, cumming untouched. 

Paul still cried for his neglected dick, raising his hips up, feeling cheated.

Paul hadn’t quite softened after the orgasm, you you turned the vibration down, still moving it around inside him. Paul cried from the sensitivity. His dick, however, was able to harden, though less intense compared to before.

You wrapped your left hand around his length, giving a lingering squeeze. Paul’s legs shivered, his body tensing up. He tilted his head back, closing his unfocused eyes and drawing his eyebrows.

“I can’t…” Paul whispered from under his breath, his lips barely moving.

You didn’t stop, but only stroked him slowly.

“Yes you can. You wanted this didn’t you?” You said. “I must not be satisfying you, poor thing. I’ll make sure to give you what you need.”

Paul shook his head, eyes shut tight. His whines were high pitched as his second orgasm built up, a proper one this time. It was slightly painful in a way, despite the gentle touches and slow movements. He widened his thighs despite himself, clenching around the toy.

He didn’t last as long. Paul came with a high pitched cry after a bit, less fluid released than before.

“Ready for the third?” You said happily.

Paul’s head shot up, and he drew in his legs, wide eyed, a look of mortification.

You pulled out the vibrator, giggling at his expense.

“Kidding! Kidding!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know where the sailor line is from, you’re the real one.


	15. 8 September 1964

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Use your suspension of disbelief about the window not breaking :)

The elevator ride was quite a long one. Paul’s hotel suite was nearly at the top floor.

The room itself had a large bay window, an excellent view of the New York City skyline. The biggest city in the world. No wonder Sinatra sang about it. 

The city lights shone onto the dark night sky, the distant sounds from the street nearly silenced by the height.

“The view’s really nice, isn’t it?” You said wistfully. He’d really come a long way since those dingy rooms in Hamburg.

“Yeah.” He said, matching your tone.

“You’ve really done it now.”

You turned to him, pride showing in your eyes. Paul was already a big-head, and all this would definitely inflate his hubris. He’d always be the same as before though, well meaning at the very least. Such an optimist, his positivity infectious.

You ran your hands across his chest. No longer wearing nothing but leather, their image had changed. Maybe for a more wholesome look, the type of lad to bring home to your parents. Funny, what knaves they really were. You liked the collarless jackets, but man could you not take him seriously when he was still wearing it during sex. It was like getting pounded by a man wearing a bib.

Paul was relaxed this evening, savoring the gentle touches. His eyes fell shut.

“You pretty thing. You’ve made it. Congrats. You can relax now.”

Paul let out a breath. You touched the sides of his neck, running them up to his cheeks. You cupped them, feeling their softness.

You pressed your lips against his delicate ones. He exhaled, the breath falling on your upper lip. They were still a bit cold from the chill outside.

Keeping your lips on his, you began to loosen his tie. You undid his suit jacket buttons, then moved to his shirt, revealing his immaculate pale skin. You ran your hands over his bare chest. Paul was rather warm here.

You undid his trousers, slipping your hand in, wrapping it around the smooth skin of his member. It was only just stirring from the attention.

“You deserve it, don’t you Paul?”

He hummed in response, eyes still shut. What a deep sweet voice.

You gave him a slow, lingering stroke. You enjoyed feeling him harden in your hand, the blood making it swell. Usually Paul was already straining in his pants by the time you started. He was always excited for what was to come. The skin was so delicate and heated, this sensitive organ.

You twisted it more, flicking your wrist. Paul’s deep voice shuddered. It seemed that he was craving to be doted on tonight. You were much obliged.

Paul’s body weight bore down on you as his legs became weaker. He certainly wasn’t as dainty, he was much larger than you in fact, both in height and weight. It seemed that he forgot at times. Sweet thing.

You held your ground, giving him another lingering squeeze, making Paul gently gasp. 

As you gazed out the large window, you had an idea. You detached your hand from Paul’s length, and he looked at you confused. 

“Come,” you said.

You gently held his body, guiding him over to the window. Paul pressed his hands against it, stabilizing himself. He turned to look at you.

From behind, you curled your hand back around his length, squeezing firmly. Paul groaned, biting his lip. He leaned into the glass, his cheek pressing against it as you weighed on his back. It was easier sharing the brunt of his weight with the surface.

The glass was cool to the touch. Paul shuddered a bit, in part from the cold, but also the height. It was a bit thrilling, but just as frightening. You could tell Paul was frightened by the altitude.

“Don’t worry, you won’t fall.” You said “This is reinforced glass. It’s unbreakable”

“That’s what they said about the Titanic.” Paul mumbled.

You kept stroking him firmly. Paul panted, fogging the cool glass up with his breath and the heat from his skin. You pressed his heated cockhead to it, smearing his precum. Paul gasped at the contact, shivers running up his body. You grinned to yourself. This was definitely thrilling.

It was so strange, his hot member against the chilly glass. The head was the most sensitive part too. It shot pleasure right through Paul’s abdomen, the delicious contrast. It provided a sort of relief as the blood coursed through it. It was warm in the room, but Paul’s chest, hands, and cheek were pressed against it. It was a cold night out.

You stroked him more, speeding up. Paul whined. His dick got harder and hotter. Paul rested his warm forehead against the glass, his mouth agape as he panted.

“I want to fuck you against it.” You said low in his ear. 

Paul hummed deep in approval, his voice shaky, the speed making his heart beat quickly.

You prepared him, attached the prosthetic, then with a firm grip on his hips, pushed into him. Paul cried out as it went in.

You weren’t as strong as Paul was, so you needed the help of the glass to keep him upright. You sometimes were sad you couldn’t throw him onto the bed, hold him down, and fuck him until he was screaming, but he could do it to  _ you _ ...and he  _ did _ do it to you, so you supposed that evened it out.

Your prosthetic was a vibrating one, which made Paul rather overwhelmed by the sensation. He made his lovely sounds against the glass. He was both fogging it up and smearing the condensation there as he shifted and moaned. You moved inside him, a hand firm around his length. 

If you were born a man you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed when it came to Paul. Fucking him with the prosthetic was pleasurable enough, but feeling the sensation? His tight hot passage clenching around you… You’d damn near impregnate him with how much you’d release inside it.

“The whole city can see you now,” You purred in his seashell ear. “They should be so lucky.”

His fans, so excited his group was staying here, had gathered at the base of the building. You could hear their faint sounds of euphoria in the distance. 

If only they could see Paul now, flushed cheeks, moaning and whining as he was fucked against the glass. Not that your intention was to humiliate him, rather getting him to this point was among the greatest things this world had to offer. You felt so lucky to have him under your thumb.

The exhibitionistic aspect seemed to give Paul a thrill, that adrenaline junkie. There was no danger in it, however. You could see the fans below, but they couldn’t see you. You were much too high to make out, as well as it being nighttime, they could likely only see light reflecting off the distant window.

You pressed his heated cockhead to the glass again. He cried as you held it to the cool surface, leaking precum all over it. You loved the obscene look of the sticky liquid being smeared around by Paul’s swollen organ. You’d clean it later...

“That’s right. Show off your lovely body, Paul.” You whispered to him laviciously.

Paul was getting louder. He arched his back, pressing a lot more of his skin against the cold window, as well as bracing his palms and forearms against it. His body would get so heated during sex. Must feel nice.

“If you’re loud enough, they’ll be able to hear you too.”

Paul giggled deeply through his breathy moans. He was damn well enjoying this. 

“You little  _ minx _ !” You said, giving his dick a sharp squeeze. 

Paul squeaked in pleasure, then resumed his giggling. His length twitched, leaking more precum. Must be making him giddy. Maybe you ought to fuck him in front of a crowd. Paul would love it, he loved putting on a show. He damn well loved the thrill of being watched, being caught. The attention whore.

He gave a few thrusts into your hand, his cockhead touching the glass each time, an ooze of precum connecting them ever so often. Paul was making the sweetest gasping sounds when it connected, shifting around. Maybe you ought to play around more with temperature on that sweet prick of his. You could only imagine what he looked like from the other side of the glass.

“Give then a show, hmm?” You said. Your hands were tight on his soft hips, jerking into him harshly.

Paul fucking mewled in response. Damn he was taking it good today. You loved him when he was rough and demanding, but loved this side of him just as much.

Paul shot his cum against the window, gasping and making adorably high cut-off noises in glee. You fucked him even harder as he worked through it, only making him cry louder. His head was tilted back. You stroked his pulsating member quickly.

When he finished, Paul slumped against the glass, his cheek pressing to it. He gave breathy laughs, dizzily looking down at the city. You stroked his hair, smoothing down the strands that curled from the condensation. He sighed.

“See, Paul? The window didn’t break.”

  
  
  



	16. 3 January 1965

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how I ended up with two pretty similar chapters. Prefer this one uwu
> 
> Be forewarned, this one’s a bit more intense.

You met Paul at a club one night. He was at a booth, and as expected, female fans were gathered around him, trying to get a look, and maybe a touch.

A blonde beside him took his mouth. He kissed back eagerly, hungrily. Paul loved attention.

She was very pretty you had to admit. A real Bridgette Bardot type with long poofy hair and ample curves.

A red head sat on his right side, pressing her body against his side. 

You could tell he was in bliss, warm feminine bodies pressed against him from both sides, excited to touch him.

If you weren’t mistaken, their hands dipping below the table was causing Paul to grin widely, his eyelashes fluttering.

In all honesty, the scene was a bit pleasurable to watch. He looked quite indecent, getting touched in public no less. He really was a thrill-seeker that one.

Though being the jealous type, you didn’t like him seeking pleasure from others. You’d be fine with sharing, it would be selfish to keep him to yourself, but you wanted it to be on your terms.

Paul’s eyes found yours across the room. You could tell he was unsure if he was seeing you or not. He must be lightheaded, all the blood rushing elsewhere. He squinted his eyes endearingly, his skin wrinkling. His cheeks were flushed, the women not stopping their administrations. You raised your eyebrow at him, tilting your head.

You watched realization dawn on his face, eyes widening. He turned his head to one of the women, and she took it as an invitation to kiss him. He maintained a sideways glance at you, body resisting the urge to detach himself. His eyes rolled back in his head, groaning into her mouth.

You made your way over to the table, resting your palms on it.

“Hello girls,” you said in a friendly manner, then turned your attention to him, becoming more sly. “Mind if I borrow McCartney for a moment?”

The girls looked a bit miffed, not wanting to give him up. You weren’t famous per se, but you had the odd photograph with him show up in the tabloids.

“S’alright.” Paul said to them, implementing his famous charm. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

The girls looked unimpressed, but hesitantly uncurled themselves from his body. 

Paul looked peeved to lose the warmth on him. He discreetly, very quickly zipped up his fly under the table. You grinned. Little minx. You’d suspected as much.

“Thank you.” You said to the girls pleasantly. “Come along, Paul.”

He stood up awkwardly, his predicament evident. He followed you out to the car you had waiting.

Paul shifted uncomfortably in his seat as you took the short drive back to his place. You didn’t put any tension in the air, but you could tell he was a bit irritated at his fun being cut short. He tapped his fingers on the windowsill wordlessly, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

When you walked into his flat, Paul began his onslaught.

“Look, I’m sorry.” He said disingenuously. His frustration was clear. “Thought you didn’t care?”

“I just don’t like to see it, that’s all.” You glowered at him.

He whipped his body around, eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, how the hell should I know when you’re going to show up? Sometimes you’re here, sometimes you’re not. You come and go as you please, often not here when I wake up!”

“You don’t have to fuck every woman you see.”

“Well!” He said “They all want me! What should I do, deny them? If anything, I’m doing them a favor.”

Paul spoke as if it was justified, doing a good deed by letting these women have their fill.

“Hell, you don’t even use rubbers half the time. You could be out there crawling with disease and having bastard children.”

Paul shook his head angrily.

“Such a whore you’ve become. Was the only thing holding you back the availability of women? You don’t need to jump at the chance to sleep with anybody that comes onto you. You could be more picky.”

He balked at the harsh words.

“Well, it’s not just about attractiveness, it’s about variety! I like variety! You never know what you’re missing out on. You knew what you were signing on for, dammit! I’m a rockstar, baby, I’m gonna enjoy it while it lasts.”

“What, are you unsatisfied?” You taunted.

“Well, at the moment, yes.” He grumbled. He was still hard, pulling the corner of his jacket over his crotch 

“you damn well pulled the plug on me.” He said.

You couldn’t help but grin at his predicament. He was shifting in discomfort, his cheeks pink from the argument, but also from arousal. It put him in a vulnerable position. You liked this look on him quite a bit.

“Oh, well, I can’t leave you like this.” You said, lustfulness cutting through your tone. “That’s something I’d never do.”

Paul raised an arched eyebrow. He shifted in place.

“Well, fine then.” He said.

“But listen, I’m still not very happy with you, so it’ll be on my terms. I’ll need you to be restrained tonight, bunny.”

Paul nodded sharply. Ultimately, he didn’t want to go to bed with a hard on.

He’d be completely satisfied. You’ll make sure of it.

Paul lied down, allowing himself to be disrobed and restrained. He complied, not wanting you to suddenly change your mind. If he was good, you’ll please him, right?

You tied a satin ribbon around his wrists, attaching them to the headboard. You went a bit further than usual, tying his legs so that they bent at the knee. Paul was stronger than you obviously, so this gave you better control.

You blindfolded him last, making Paul oblivious to his surroundings.

Paul arched his back, a movement he could still do. He searched for friction, already hard and straining against the air. How presumptions. He expected the touches without question. He was still yearning for control, an impatient thing.

You brought the hitachi to his frenulum, making Paul jump at the contact. He didn’t know what to expect whilst blinded.

Paul was grinning open mouthed, breathing shallow breaths. He shifted in the satin, turning his hips, getting more aroused. 

When his orgasm began to build, you pulled it off. No. He wouldn’t get what he wanted this easily. Not with a hitachi.

Paul chased it with his hips, frowning, finding only the cool air. He gave an impatient jerk.

“The fuck?” He snapped. Such a spoiled thing

You let him falter a few moments, before bringing the hitachi back down. Paul hummed low in enjoyment, pushing his hips against it. The second he moved, you pulled it away. Paul made a sound of agitation.

“Stay still.” You said firmly.

Paul lowered his hips, waiting tensely.

“Good…” you said.

You pressed it lightly on his frenulum. Paul whined and shook, focusing on not jerking his hips.

You slowly rolled it up and down his spine, watching him squirm and make little sounds.

Paul’s breaths got more shallow as he became more acquainted with it. He was trying to fool you by holding back his voice, but you could tell he was getting close again. 

You played along, stroking it more. Paul let out a lengthy breath. His dick was rather swollen, twitching against the end of the hitachi. You could see every sign of it building up. Paul gasped, and his length gave another sharp twitch. You pulled it back.

“No!” Paul cried, flexing it. A drool of precum leaked down the side, even that frustrating him, the moisture making the cool air hit his member, the bead clinging to him.

Paul lay another moment, catching his breath angrily. He couldn’t shoot you a look, or move much at all. 

Normally he’d beg more, be sweeter, and that could make you give in. Now, however, he was being quite bratty. He was very impatient, feeling that he deserved the release stolen from him earlier.

Paul shifted his hips, a sharp inhale as his dick shifted on his abdomen. It was stimulation, but nowhere near enough, only teasing him further if anything.

You waited for his dick to soften a touch. You could tell the sensation was killing him. You weren’t even doing anything to him, but he groaned and whined, shifting in his bonds.

You knew the vibrations would be too much. You used only a couple fingers, stroking them up and down the spine of his dick. 

He was quite sensitive there, as blood tended to condense in the area. It was such a small amount of stimulation, but Paul was so pent up that even this could make him cum.

“Stay still.” You said.

Paul forced his hips to stay put, and you could see muscles twitch in concentration. He whined in a rather embarrassing way, the touches being too much yet not enough.

If you tossed him off like normal, he’d be cumming in seconds flat. Your strokes were slow and methodical, light enough to slow his building orgasm. His dick began to swell again, throbbing along with his heartbeat under your touch. He whined again. 

His dick that was usually rather cute, was beginning to look much more grotesque than normal. Like other times you’ve edged him, it became engorgined, veins appearing, turning a dark red. If you put your mouth on it I’d be quite heated. It trembled with need.

Paul’s whines became higher, and you slowed, your touches becoming lighter, before lifting your fingers off. 

Paul cried out at this. Luckily he’d shed his cocky demeanor, desperate for release. You’d gotten rid of that pesky hubris.

He lay there breathing on the sheets, chest rising and falling a third time. He grimaced as his arousal begun to cool down a third time.

He felt your weight on the mattress lift off. His ears tried to listen for you, head sightlessly looking around.

“You’re leaving me like this?!” Paul shouted, not knowing where to direct it.

You shushed him. He gritted his teeth as you sat back down. He felt your presence hovering over him.

You slid the cocking down his shaft, tightening around the base. 

Paul raised his eyebrows under the blindfold, he shifted his wrists angrily, growing agitated at the familiar feeling he hated so much. 

“You’ve got to be kidding!” He snapped.

“Hush.” You said in a calm, though firm manner. 

“What?” Paul said loudly in indignation. “I  _ thought _ you said you would  _ satisfy _ me!”

You giggled and rubbed his thigh, the soft hair tickling your palm.

“I will, I will.” You said. “But first you need to learn to wait for things. Patience is a virtue, and you’ve been getting quite spoiled lately. Be good, and I’ll make sure you’re  _ well  _ satisfied.”

“Fucking ‘hell!” He exclaimed in anger.

You giggled again.

“You’ve got a filthy mouth, don’t you? Keep that up and you’ll find yourself gagged as well.”

Paul grumbled, but held his tongue.

As he wouldn't cum with the ring on, you didn’t need to hold back. You began to toss him off quickly. 

This overstimulated Paul a great deal. He shook his head desperately, unable to distance himself from the sensation, yet unable to have release. 

  
  


Any inclining of composure was gone as he made the ugliest noises, mouth ajar, and he writhed in his binds. His body forced him to chase the pleasure despite it all being in vain. The stimulation was torturous, but it would be a hundred times worse to lose it.

“Oh, I love tossing you off.” You said sweetly. “I’d do it for hours if I could.”

You loved the feeling of the soft skin sliding in your hand, covering the desperate hardness. It was truly alive, throbbing and twitching in your hold, spitting out angry bits of precum. Paul leaked like nothing else when that ring was around him. 

The best part, however, was literally having him in the palm of your hand, completely unravelling from the sensation on his prock.

You stroked him until you were satisfied, completely ignoring Paul’s sweet cries and begging. He lay there miserably when you retreated your hand, disheveled and sweaty, his hair mussed up. Quite a far cry from his immaculate self.

You slicked up your hand, then teased at his entrance with a slight pressure. Paul rolled his hips and whined. You cooed at him.

“I’m gonna fuck you now. You’d like that, won’t you?”

Paul sucked in a breath. He tried to push against your fingers, but like earlier, that made you pull away. Your hand moved to his pubic hair, playing with the soft dark fluff. You rubbed the area in slow circular movements.

Paul groaned, but held still. Your touch was so close to where he needed it. He couldn’t cum, but he  _ needed _ the contact. Every fiber of his being was screaming for it, the desperation concentrated in his heated member.

“You don’t need to be in control, Paul. Lie still, take it. It’ll be better for you that way.”

Paul relaxed his body. His heart was beating quickly, arousal buzzing with need between his legs. He let out a shaky breath.

You began to finger him, pressing into his spot just so he could squirm more and leak onto himself. You weren’t faulting him for his sweet little noises. It was nice, though, when he needed to hold it back, straining to keep his voice down. How adorable it all was.

You lined the prosthetic up to his entrance, and hesitated a moment before slowly pushing in, making Paul seethe in the anticipation. He let out a prolonged groan.

He was so pretty, squirming in his restraints as you fucked him. You didn’t need to be gentle with that magical ring on. Every shot of pleasure Paul got was in equal parts agonizing, though he craved each one.

You wrapped a hand around his swollen member, squeezing it inconsistently. Each time Paul squeaked, becoming startled. Each touch was a surprise to him, unable to anticipate them.

It was a bit of a bummer covering his beautiful eyes, but his intense looks could even give him the upper hand. Now he was truly vulnerable to you. You took that responsibility in stride.

“What would those pretty girls say if they saw you like this, hmm?” You purred. “Could they fuck you the way I do?”

Paul shifted more, groaning. He couldn’t wrap his legs around you, bring you closer in any way, but he kept them well spread for access.

“I’m sure they’d enjoy it. They’d see how pretty you look, what sweet noises you make. They’d want to take care of you as well.”

You continued, thinking it over.

“I wouldn’t  _ terribly _ mind sharing,” you said lustfully, picturing them. “They were such  _ nice  _ looking ladies. Perhaps I’d have to keep that neat little ring on you, make sure you can satisfy us all.”

Paul jerked his hips in frusturation as your fucking became rougher. You giggled.

“You could fuck one of them, and I could fuck you from the back. I’m sure the other one would love to try out that  _ talented  _ mouth of yours. I’m sure you could handle that, little rabbit.”

You thought for a moment, your rhythm still consistent. You had a firm hold on his pale (though now flushed) hips as you fucked deeper into him.

“Well...I’d there’s one thing I’d be  _ anal  _ about.” You said, giggling at your word choice. “When you  _ do _ finally cum, It'll be inside  _ me.  _ You hear? That’s something I  _ don’t _ want to share.”

You clenched your hand tighter around his swollen member. Paul sucked in a breath. His cheeks were rather pink. 

“Only I get to know how nice it feels to be filled up by that sweet little  _ prick  _ of yours.”

You accentuated each word with a firm squeeze, making Paul whine painfully. He cried out again, being taunted with the thing he wanted most at the moment.

“Hmm? Do you want that, Paul?”

He whined again, to delirious to articulate his words.

“Need something, bunny? Tell me.” You cooed.

Paul jerked his hips again. He found his voice, despite it being breathy and slurred.

“Take’t off! Take’t fuckin’ off!” He cried.

Still fucking him, you slowly slid the ring off, making sure to draw it out. Paul made indescribable noises, not very attractive, but coming off irresistible in that sweet voice of his.

Once it was off, you began to pick up your pace.

“Ooh yes! Yes baby!” Paul shrieked in ecstasy.

He rolled his hips in excitement as you didn’t pull away once he neared his release. He was completely desperate for it, and it built up very quick. He grinned widely under you, letting out erratic happy gasps of pleasure.

The waves of it already began to hit him. Paul got louder, shrieking and moaning as he shot out his load. His back arched dramatically, and he let out incomprehensible obscene sounds as it tore through him.

He writhed and shivered in his bonds, mouth wide open and eyes shut tight. You stroked him through it, matching the intense nature of his orgasm.

He lay panting with his fluids on his chest, dick softening on his navel. You gathered some of his release on your finger, bringing it to his mouth. Paul sucked it off eagerly, too unbothered in his post orgasmic bliss.

You made no moves to remove his blinds, or his blindfold for that matter. You were still inside him. His face reddened in confusion when you began to move. He shifted uncomfortably, whimpering as you grazed against his sensitive spot.

“What? What’re you doin’? I, I finished already…” Paul’s voice tapered off in uncertainty. 

You gave another firm thrust and he hissed. You held his softening member in your hand. Paul winced as you began stroking the sensitive organ.

“I feel really bad, Paul. I do.” You said. “You must not be getting fully satiated. Don’t worry, I’ll get it very last bit out of that sweet prick of yours.”

He gasped again as you focused on his prostate.

Paul was young, and able to harden again. Still, it was such a short recovery period. Each touch was a hundred times more sensitive. As his orgasm built up, though, he felt the need to release.

Paul whimpered and whined, putty in your hands as he was coaxed into a second orgasm. Being as sensitive as he was, he couldn’t hold out very long.

You stroked him through it, his whines quite high. His sweet body trembled and shook. He jerked his hips and winced at the intensity, his sweet prick pulsing. All he could do was take it. He couldn’t even see, much less move.

Paul began to get frantic when you  _ still _ hadn’t stopped. He shifted around, but you kept him still, hands firm on his hips. Just for that, you hit his prostate even rougher. Paul whined higher than even before.

“No, no, I can’t again! I  _ can’t _ !” He strained desperately through gritted teeth. His voice was rather weak now, his body tense as he struggled to rise a third time.

You giggled and gently caressed his trembling flesh.

“Yes, yes, you can.” You purred “Every drop, see? I won’t stop until that prick of yours is  _ truly _ satisfied. It’s rising again, see? It wants more.”

You were more gentle, more slow, but Paul’s third orgasm of the night began to build. He winced and whimpered high in his throat, thighs jerking whenever a shot of oversensitive pleasure went through him. He’d never felt so raw, so helpless.

Your hand stroked him gently, his prick more sensitive than ever. It wasn’t engorged like before, struggling to stay erect. Paul whined and whimpered still. 

Luckily, it seemed that he’d Paul had finally submitted, no longer craving the control you wouldn’t allow him. You smiled and massaged his tense stomach.

It wasn’t long before he was cumming a third time. Paul cried out as he released, not much fluid coming out this time.

You  _ still  _ didn’t stop. Paul was too worn out to do much other than moan, his body too heavy. You weren’t harsh, slower more gradual touches, not necessarily coaxing out another orgasm.

Paul got more lightheaded, drifting off. You slowed down as he succumbed to it, letting the sleepiness overtake his body.

Once it seemed that he’d dozed off, you pulled out slowly. 

You undid his binds, and cleaned him off. He moaned in his sleep as your hands soothed his soreness in his body. When you were satisfied, you pulled the duvet over him, allowing him to rest easy.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what he’s a whore? Just bang it out of him. Do I have a degree in relationship counseling? No. Do I need one to write about elderly rock n’ roll legend Paul McCartney getting it up the ass? Unsure.


	17. 12 June 1965

Paul had to attend numerous mind numbing press conferences as the success wore on. They would ask him the same few idiotic questions:

What color are your eyes?

Are you planning to get married?

What brand cigarettes do you smoke?

How tall are you?

What is your shoe size?

How much do you weigh?

What’s your favorite color?

He was beginning to feel like a commodity to tell the truth. Answering simple questions to print in their cutesy magazines. It felt fine to indulge them, but it got old quickly.

It wasn’t just that. The press agents at times, motivated by inferiority or ego, asked them condescending things, making a joke at their expense, looking down on their fan base.

Paul’s disillusion of it all made an idea pop into your head.

You felt bad for the poor devil, sitting through these tedious things. It would be so satisfying to poke fun at the whole thing, though in a way nobody will be the wiser. 

You put a small plug inside him, which had a remote to go along with it.

You sat in the crowd during the conference, playing with the dial. Paul would grin at nothing in particular, staring at the interviewees with a dazed lidded expression.

When a particularly attractive interviewer caught his eye, Paul would fixate on her face, staring at it with raised eyebrows and a smile, resting his cheek in his hand. When you noticed this, you turned the dial up, causing Paul to smile wider, his eyes rolling up slightly.

You never turned it so high that Paul would get off, only enough that he'd get pleasant butterflies in his abdomen, shift in his seat, need to hide his partial.

After the conference had finished, you took him into a supply closet, satiating him with a handie.

-

You both got a thrill of it, so you decided to do it again.

This time, however, you wanted to go a step further.

You began the same as the previous time, the soft vibrations making Paul giggle, be more cheery with his responses.

You smiled to yourself, turning the dial a bit higher than before. It flashed across his face very quickly, but you caught a surprised expression.

You watched from where you sat, Paul struggling to keep a straight face. He shifted his legs.

“What color are your eyes, Paul?” A press agent piped up.

“Huh?” Paul said dizzily.

“Your eyes, Paul.” She repeated. “What color?”

You could see the cogs turning in his head. He let out a breath, then wet his lips.

“Hazel. S’hazel.”

He was stumbling over his words. You grinned.

It was enough to be a nagging sensation, but Paul wouldn’t orgasm from it.

His eyes darted around the room, occasionally wincing. He was trying to find you in the crowd and shoot you a dirty look. Without warning, you turned it up to the max for a split second, before bringing it back down to discourage the behavior. Paul squeaked at that.

“Are you alright, Paul?” Said another press agent.

It was loud enough for them to notice, especially with the microphone.

If Paul was looking directly at you, then there’d be no mystery to the sensations. He’d be able to tell from your facial expressions or movements what you may do next. He’d have something to focus on as well. That just wouldn’t do.

You turned the dial a bit higher, Paul shuddered and pressed his knees together. His cheeks were pink, in part from the embarrassment.

You knew though, that there was no way anybody but the two of you could infer what was going on. 

Both of Paul’s hands were on the table, so nobody would think he was playing with himself during the conference like some sort of deviant. There was nothing to suggest his reactions were sexual in nature either. 

Paul was fully clothed, his fly zipped up. He was also doing a fine job hiding his erection with his legs crossed.

With his adorably flushed cheeks, dazed expression, and twitching fingers, it seemed that the heightened intensity was getting him worked up. The poor bastard must be leaking precum as he strained against his trousers. You knew how Paul got when there were eyes on him. He got a real kick out of the risk.

“Paul, how would you like your girls to dress?”

As soon as the question was uttered, you turned the vibrations all the way up, making Paul choke on his words.

“I, I-“ he stumbled out in a shaky voice. He began a coughing fit, covering up his moans.

He buried his face in his arms, biting his lip hard. God forbid he let out a noise loud enough for the microphone to pick up. He let out another little cough, stifling a sound he almost let slip through. You have his legs twitch under the table. He gave one subtle jerk of his hips, but managed to keep them still as the pleasure shot through his gut.

“Paul?” Said one interviewer, a bit worried.

“Is he alright?” Said another. This was directed more at the other boys

“A real card this one, must be havin’ another one of his episodes” said one of them mirthfully. The one with the eyebrows.

The other boys in his group laughed, making the interviewers laugh. They were quite the zany bunch, them. O single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness.

You kept the setting high as Paul rode through it, legs shuddering under the table. You turned it off when he finished, and only then did he lift his head, staring fogging at the interviewers.

“Better now, Paul?” Said another one of his bandmates. You sometimes wondered if they ever spoke without multiple layers of irony in their tone.

Paul ran a hand through his hair, slightly mussed up from his reaction.

“You know those flash migraines that hit you? What a pain.” Paul said, forcing a chuckle.

“A real card this one,” said another of his bandmates jovially.

“S’probably from all the beatings we give ‘him” said the first one.

“We’re known for our beatings”

“We all beat each other all night long.”

“To Bridgette Bardot”

Well, that much was true. 

They all cackled in unison, much to the confusion of the audience.

You could see the article headlines now:  _ Beatle Paul McCartney suffers from frequent migraines,  _ prompting sympathy from girls all across the country.

Poor thing, eyes shut tight, delicate wrist to his forehead, perhaps even a tear sliding down that kissable cheek. If only you...yes  _ you _ ...the girl reading this magazine could comfort him. Comfort him all night long. All he wants is a girl to hold him, tell him things will be alright. He’s such a sensitive musician boy, with simple desires.

The press conference concluded. Paul finished it well enough, albeit shifting in his seat. The plug was still inside even though it wasn’t vibrating.

You met up with him once people were clearing out.

“How was the conference?” You said, a wide smile on your face. 

He shot you a dirty look, then his eyes wandered, thinking for a moment.

“Eh, pretty satisfying. Christ I’m sick of these things.” He said. “Not lettin’ you do that again though.”

  
  


You got the pounding of your life that night. Rat bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean it’s sort of hypocritical to poke fun at articles written for 1960s beetle fangirls, while I’m here writing reader insert fanfiction about them in the glorious 21st century.


	18. 11 February 1966

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve dabbled in the devil’s lettuce, so I know how to write it, but I won’t bring up the other substances these madmen used. 
> 
> Remember, kids, take drugs responsibly :) don’t use too much while your brain is developing. It’s not as addictive as some other things, but it's possible to develop a dependence. It's important to be able to function without it. Don’t drive while using it.
> 
> Never smoke cigarettes or try hard drugs, those will screw you up.

  
  
  
  
  


Since offered it by Bob Dylan in 1965, Paul and his group had become rather fond of pot.

The drug would put you in a sort of dream, and you’d drift in and out of thoughts and reality. 

Paul would let go of his pridefulness, and while you fucked him, he’d be more relaxed, letting his voice flow. His eyes would be dazed, only focusing every so often. The whites of them became bloodshot.

-

That night, Paul had gotten his hands on a bag of the stuff. You watched from the bed as he rolled it into a joint. It was dim in the room besides the glow from a shaded lamp. His features shone in the warm glow of it, as well as the distant moonlight. He turned to you and grinned.

“Wanna try’t?” Paul said.

  
You gave him an unamused look.

“I’ve had it before, Paul. I’m not an innocent flower, y’know.”

“Yer as pretty as one.” Paul taunted.

“ _ You’re  _ as pretty as one.” You shot back.

“I’m no flower! I’m a rock n’ roller.” 

He moved his hair in a suave manner, flaunting his status.

“You’re not flower.” You said amused. “You’re obviously Bambi.”

Paul gave a bark of laughter.

“I don’t fuck like Bambi! Maybe you ought to call me Thumper.”

You cringed.

“You’ve got the teeth for it.” You said. You mimicked his exaggerated open-mouthed grins, bugging your eyes out, pointing at your teeth. You relaxed your face and giggled. “You’ve got Bambi’s eyes, thought.”

He stretched his lips over his rabbit teeth, running his tongue over them as he looked at you lavisciously.

“Does that make you Faline?” He said.

“Maybe. Too bad deer don’t mate for life.”

“I’ll try to last as long as I can tonight.” He winked. Must be easy with such large eyelids.

Paul lit the end of the joint, watching the paper burn.

“You want the first hit?” He said, holding it lazily between his fingers.

“You first.”

Paul grinned smugly at you, before taking a long drag. With it still in his lungs, he strode over to you, then blew the smoke over your face from his pretty lips.

You coughed, wrinkling your nose and laughing as you fanned the air.

“Cunt.” You choked.

His eyes were on yours through the smoke. He was poking fun at you at your expense. He took another drag, then pressed his lips to yours, filling your lungs with it.

You both coughed into your fists as it dissipated. The smoke always seemed to irritate you.

“Want’t?” Paul said through his coughing, holding the blunt out.

You took it from his slender fingers, and took a drag from where his lips had been. It wasn’t like a cigarette, you had to breathe it deeply.

“Turn  _ on _ baby.” Paul drew out as you inhaled.

You had to laugh, the smoke coming out your nose. 

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

His cheeks bunched up, his stupidly smug smiles.

You took another drag, then blew the smoke gently over his face. He wrinkled his nose.

Paul took the joint, taking another lungful. You watched his pretty pink lips close around it.

“You’re an awful influence y’know.” You told him snootily. “You realize you’re corrupting the youth with your filthy English ways?”

Paul coughed into his fist.

“Eh?” He said.

“You heard me, McCartney.” You took on a mock-BBC type accent. “You’re a filthy little boy. Glorifying false idols, living a life of sin. Corrupting the youth with your ungodly rock music. A good paddling’s what you need.”

“Oh  _ please _ ,” He said pitifully, his lip quivering. He took on an accent as well. “I’ve been such a naughty  _ naughty _ boy. A paddling’s  _ just  _ what I need. Lest I plant more impure thoughts in the heads of godly women. ”

You ran a finger from his hip to his chest slowly, tracing the curve.

Paul laughed again, coughing into his fist. His cheeks went pink and his cheeks bunched up.

You toyed with his collar, and he turned back to you, wheezing. His adam’s apple shifted as he giggled.

“I’ll mark up that neck of yours.” You mumbled to yourself. Your humorous demeanor lessened as your eyes wandered across his body. 

Paul had little beauty marks on his neck. His collarbone and shoulders had them as well, but the shirt was covering them up. You stared at the marks on his neck as his skin moved, transfixed.

You brought your fingertip to one. It didn’t smear when you rubbed it.

“Hmm?” Paul said.

Wordlessly, you unbuttoned the top button, wanting to expose more skin.

“Hold’on” he said abruptly.

You felt irked when he pulled away from you, his words going over your head.

You had to take a moment to move your eyes from where he was, to where he moved. You sat up straighter, watching Paul put out the joint, resting it on the ashtray.

You watched transfixed as his body moved. Paul had a lovely way of carrying himself. His trousers fit well, stretching over his long legs. They began at the dip of his waist, his shirt tucking into it. It gave him a lovely silhouette, accentuating his curves. And that rear of his...

You noticed he was waving his hand, snapping you out of your trance. Your eyes snapped up to his face.

“Come,” You said, beckoning him closer. He complied.

His mouth was quickly on your neck, a knee braced on the mattress.

Your hands found his hips, gripping them tight as Paul ground into you.

You resumed unbuttoning his shirt, then undid his fly. Paul began fervently undressing you as well. His large hands grabbed at your body roughly in impatience.

Paul’s body moved over you, pushing you up the bed. You’d freed his erection from its constraints.

Paul made slow thrusts into the air unconsciously out of instinct. His heat occasionally grazed against your thigh, making him moan from the sensation. The precum smeared onto your skin where the rubbery head made contact.

You reached for it, taking Paul’s arousal in your hand. You guided it to your entrance.

Paul instinctively pushed in, giving a lovely deep moan. He began fucking you, intuitively thrusting, more slowly than usual, savoring it.

He was in the same predicament as you, drifting out of consciousness only to be brought back from a particularly good sensation. Even you had trouble holding back your gasps and exhales. You kept losing your train of thought…

...

...

Paul’s skin was pale, his chest expanding and contracting. He breathed in rhythm with his slow thrusts.

You watched his body move. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth lazily.

You kept focusing on specific things, getting lost in incoherent thought.

What was Paul’s skin tone? Warm or cool? His puffies were pink, cute and soft on his sweet chest. They were flat. He had some hair on it, but a very minimal amount.

Paul’s arms were braced on either side of you. He shifted a bit, angling his thrusts differently. Your eyes went to the movement.

Such a hairy forearm, strong ones, though delicate. You moved your hand to it, feeling it with your fingertips. Pretty. Very soft.

Paul gave a harder thrust and you gasped. You’d forgotten he was fucking you.

Your eyes slowly drifted to his.

Paul’s pupils were large, his lips parted. You stared lazily at him, and he stared back.

Paul let out a shaky breath, his eyelids falling shut. All his movements were intuitive, from muscle memory and instinct. You wrapped your legs around his body. Paul wet his lips.

It was dim in the hotel room, nighttime outside, the only light from a shaded lamp.

Paul’s irises were lovely, brownish green. You were lost in them. You kept spiraling around the blown up pupil, the moonlight reflecting against them. They were slightly bloodshot. His eyelashes were very long, casting shadows across his soft pale cheeks.

His cheeks were moving...his lips were moving. Paul was speaking in his melodic deep voice. You watched his pretty lips move over his rabbit teeth. He made a “th” sound, his pretty pink tongue flitted between his teeth. You giggled, then kept giggling. You forgot what was so funny, but you couldn’t stop.

Paul began laughing also since you were.

“What did I say?” Paul said. It seemed he’d forgotten as well.

His cheeks bunched up, the crinkles appearing. Little rabbit teeth. He poked his tongue between them again, and a shot of arousal went through you. Oh no, that was from the sex, which was happening currently...well, 50/50. 

You glanced down to where you were connected, your hands resting on his soft chest. His shaft was moving in and out of you slowly. It disappeared into you, then back out, coming out slick with your fluids. The organ was quite hot, sliding against your walls. 

Paul’s bubic hair was quite fluffy and dark, curling from the condensation. His stomach was cute and soft, clenching in arousal and movement. Lust churned inside you, and you deliberately tightened, making him move sweetly.

“What?” You said.

“Hmm?” Paul murmured. “What did you say?”

“Huh? You said something.” You mumbled. Your lips felt heavy. “Earlier.”

“Eh?” Paul grunted.

He lifted one of your thighs, going deeper. You writhed in pressure, the new angle quite delicious.

Paul weighed down on you. You felt his bare skin warm against yours. The feeling was intoxicating.

His forehead rested against yours, his hips rolling slowly. He exhales and you could smell the weed on his warm breaths. His lips were close to yours, begging for attention.

Paul’s hips shuddered. You wrapped your arms around his back, digging in your fingernails. Paul gasped and sped up at the intensity.

You hummed, and Paul took your lower lip in his mouth, sucking on it. You felt his teeth nibble on it, and you quite nearly groaned. Those adorable teeth, doing such sinful things.

You felt his gorgeous body up, pressing at the smooth skin. 

You began kissing him back, much more bold than he was. Paul groaned into your mouth. You tasted every inch of his delicious little mouth, nibbling on his plump lower lip. Paul matched your intensity. Every graze of his cute teeth shot pleasure straight to your arousal.

You found Paul’s wandering hand, curling your fingers around it. You blindly stroked the long slender fingers. They were slightly cold from the room. His skin was so soft, his hands so graceful yet strong. His fingertips were hard from the guitar calluses. You massaged his large soft palm.

He pressed his stomach firm against yours, his back arching. You were holding his body tight, massaging your hands into his lower back, soothing the tension. You were acting from intuition as well, and your intuition was to please the lovely thing.

A nagging thought kept running through your head...Bambi?

What about Bambi? The movie? You were a bit confused.

You opened your eyes dizzily. Paul’s mouth was on you, tongue grazing against yours. You were kissing him back hungrily. Yes. Very good. His soft hair grazed against your forehead. It was longer than the years before, nearly covering his lovely arched eyebrows.

Maybe Paul would get it.

_ Bambi _ , you mumbled against his mouth. It came out garbled. It was hard to talk with another tongue.

Paul lifted his head.

“Hmm?”

You tried to speak. Amazingly you remembered what you wanted to say.

“S’you.” You mumbled. It was hard to speak when it was so easy to lose your train of thought. “You’re Bambi? Isn’t it?”

“Huh?” Paul drew out. “What?”

“Remember?” You began another fit of giggles. “It was you, remember?”

“What?” Paul repeated. He didn’t slur his words. It was more of a sleepy mumbling. “What’s me?”

His mouth moved to your neck as you giggled, kissing and nibbling at you. It tickled as it was too light. You giggled more.

Why were you laughing? His lips were warm. Very nice and sweet. All very sweet.

“What’stit?” Paul murmured.

“Hmm?”

Paul detached himself from your neck to look you in the eye. The rest of the room faded away. His pupils were quite dark. His lips were pretty and a little wet. You wanted to bite them off as he whined and moaned.

You didn’t know what he was talking about. Didn’t matter. You took his bottom lip, nibbling on its fullness. Paul reciprocated eagerly, deepening it again.

Paul moaned and hummed in your mouth. His thrusts were getting rougher and jerkier. His sounds only made you harsher with his pretty lips. You assisted him, rolling your hips in rhythm with it. You encouraged his pleasure, clenching around him.

You felt like you were on cloud nine. Your abdomen buzzed with your incoming orgasm. Were you dreaming? You could smell the distinct scent of Paul, specifically his arousal. It was all around you, such an intoxicating scent. His body was quite warm, enveloping you.

You were filled with warmth, coming out in bursts. Paul’s sweet voice filled your ears. Your legs shifted around him. You felt the familiar pressure in your abdomen, the friction becoming too much. You tightened, riding Paul through his release.

Paul rocked inside you, making sure to release every bit. His lips were on your neck, his weight bearing down on you. You could feel his quick heartbeat slow. His public hair was soft against your navel. You rested your hands on the sides of his arms.

Paul caught his breath, hot against your neck.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	19. 20 May 1966

After what felt like non-stop travel and performances, Paul’s group were taking a long awaited break.

You met with him. When he smiled, you immediately noticed the idiot went and knocked his tooth out! Well, not knocked out, but nearly half of it was chipped off.

“Your teeth!” You said.

“Hmm?”

You shot him a look.

“How did this happen?” You asked.

“Well, I was stoned, riding my moped, y’know.”

“Right.” You cut in. 

Paul continued.

“Right...an’ I looked up at the moon, y’know. Was a lovely full moon...then I was lookin’ at the pavement, an’ I thought  _ holy shit _ , y’know.  _ ‘m gonna hit my face _ . An’ I did y’know. Right on the pavement. An’ I had to go to my cousin, she’s a nurse. She patched it up-like. No anesthetic.”

He seemed awful proud of that last part, puffing up his chest. A real man’s man. Pain was no burden to bear.

“Dammit, man. I liked your rabbit teeth, you know.” You groaned.

Paul ran his tongue over the chip.

“You can barely see’t.” He said

“Let me see.” You said.

You leant over Paul, taking his mouth. He reciprocated.  _ This was happening now, alright! _ was likely what went through his mind. 

You ran your tongue over where his tooth used to be. There was a noticeable gap.

You deepened the kiss, searching the rest of his mouth. Paul moaned into it. His upper lip was a bit swollen, but it didn’t seem to hurt him, so you didn’t mind. The rest of his teeth were more or less how you remembered them.

You pulled away slightly, mumbling into his mouth.

“Anything else broken?”

“Jus’ my pride.” he said.

You reached a hand in between where your bodies were pressed together, palming him through his trousers. Paul gasped at the contact.

“All good here?” You said.

“ _ Hmm! _ ” He hummed in approval.

You added pressure, a firmer hand on his groin.

“Trill seeker. You’re a real adrenaline junkie, McCartney.” You said under your breath, grinning against his lips. “It was bound to bite you in the ass someday.”

You gave a squeeze to Paul’s quickly hardening shaft, Paul whined at the sensation, a touch rougher.

“Those were  _ my _ sweet bunny teeth as well, you know.” You said,

Paul opened his lidded eyes giving you a sly look. You could see his chipped tooth as he grinned.

“ _ Your _ rabbit teeth?” He said amused.

“Yes,  _ mine _ .” You said firmly. You took his mouth again, biting down on his lower lip possessively.

Paul shuddered. He was seeing the humor in it, but he did like to be taken like this. It tied into his whole praise fetish, how the concerts riled him up. He liked to be desired.

You tan your tongue over it again, it would take some getting used to.

“You know, it  _ is _ rather appealing on you.” Your eyes bore into his, the lust behind them showing through. “Your sweet face, with your chipped tooth. The imperfection is even...sexy, I’d say. It throws you off.”

Paul looked to the side. He was so full of himself, the fame only lending to his hubris, but stating these things so directly made him bashful still. You were always straight to the point with him, not mincing words. 

He was conscious of the chip from you mentioning it, Paul ran his tongue over it again.

“Doing that, too. Very sexy. You don’t even mean it to be, do you?”

Your voice was dangerously low, thick with lust. He drove you mad, he did. You didn’t know if you wanted to fuck him or choke him out. Speaking of, he parted his lips again in his starlett manner, showing his teeth like that. It was a fucking mannerism. Paul didn’t even notice these things he did for the most part. It drove you mad.

“No wonder those poor girls are falling dead in the streets. You won’t even take responsibility for it. You can fuck as many of them as you can, but you’ll never make up for the damage you’ve caused.”

Paul’s eyes were drifting from bashfulness. 

“Having your face in these papers and tabloids are no good for anybody. Anybody with eyes would want a taste of you, you’re killing them, Paul.

You harshly squeezed where you were cupping him.

“Aren’t you, Paul?”

Paul squeaked.

“I dunno,” He mumbled.

His blood was likely congregating elsewhere, leaving him lightheaded. 

His eyes were so sweet and demure. The very same look as four years back, despite all that’s happened. You had to hold back from taking him at any moment. 

His chipped tooth was such an endearing quirk at second thought. It meshed well with his innocent face.

You moved to his lap, straddling his hips. Your hands moved to his lower back. His arousal strained into where you were seated. If you weren’t both clothed, it would’ve gone in.

“So eager all the time.” You breathed into his ear. “Such a sinful thing, aren’t you? Are you ever satiated? Little rabbit. Fuck like one, you do.”

You grazed your lips over his neck and seashell ear, making him shudder. 

He wasn’t chubby by any extent, but he was a bit less skinny than before, body a bit softer. His skin was still soft and sweet scented. You couldn’t get enough of it.

“You could probably go for hours if you wanted. Bunny rabbit.”

You nipped his neck, and Paul groaned, arching his body into yours.

“Yes.” you said smugly. His soft dark hair tickled your cheek.

-

You kept a firm hold on Paul’s thighs, keeping them spread.

You fucked into him roughly as he cried out and moaned. You’d been generous with the lubrication, and the slickness ran down his thighs. It allowed you to be harsher and quicker. Paul’s lovely wrists were tied over his head with rope, giving up control to your rough administrations.

You weren’t punishing him, rather fully indulging in his sweet body, not holding back. At times, you wanted to be gentle, whisper soft words, tell Paul how lovely he was as you stroked his hair and kissed his body, coax a lingering orgasm out of him, make him moan and whine softly from his pretty lips as the waves cascaded over him.

Other times, you wanted to ravish him until he screamed his throat raw from cries of pleasure, leave marks all over his immaculate skin as you obliterated that perky ass.

Paul liked it rough. He liked to be rough when he was in control as well. Either in terms of giving or receiving, Paul could jive with both gentle Mcloving, and brutal fucking. Much like his songs, he had the range.

During times like this, Paul would forgo his pride, cry out and beg. He knew by this point that you adored all his sounds and reactions, masculine or otherwise. He pleaded and whined for more and harder as he twisted his wrists in his binds.

“More, Paul?” You teased.

Paul cried out obscenely. It was an ugly sound, but turned you on like nothing else. You were glad to have a house to yourselves after all those hotel rooms and the shared flat with his bandmates. It was awkward if you ran into any of his English comrades. Their eyes really bore into yours. They scared you in a way, their whole musician thing.

Still, in this new place, there were often crowds of fans outside, ringing the buzzer, getting excited whenever they got a glimpse of him. You understood their lust (or rather, unrequited love for the version of Paul the papers put out) but this was a bit overkill. Didn’t they have anything better to do? If they wanted to fuck Paul, hanging around the more exclusive clubs would be a better bet.

You kept a firm grip on his legs, going deeper. Paul’s mouth was open as he panted and cried, his lip stretched over his adorably chipped teeth.

You went deeper, slowing down, grinding into Paul’s entrance. Paul’s voice got deeper, strangled hums from low in his throat.

“How lovely you are, Paul.” You purred.

Paul whimpered. His eyes were teary and unfocused, parted lips quivering from the intensity. He drew labored breaths, trembling from the quick change in pace. There was a sheen of sweat on his soft pale skin, giving him a beautiful glow. It was a good look for him, similar to how he looked after concerts.

Paul let out more shaky breaths, then gave a prolonged whine in frustration.

“Touch m’knob, will’ya?” Paul slurred through his panting.

His knob lay swollen on his stomach, leaking from neglect. Paul couldn’t do much about it with his hands tied.

You loved his prick, touching it, sucking on it. You didn’t mean to ignore the sweet thing, but you got so wrapped up in fucking his perfect ass.

You took the knob in your hand, squeezing. Paul cried out at the sensation. It wasn’t even that hard a squeeze, but Paul’s nerves were stretched thin, every touch shooting intense, even pained, pleasure into his abdomen.

“Is it all you think about? Getting this sweet prick of your’s tugged?” You teased, maintaining the healthy pace of stroking “Can’t say I blame you. Such a needy thing you are, too.”   
  


Paul didn’t do much to refute the teasing. Often you’d have switch and spurs, switch and spurs, then you’d cry a match. You could both dish it out at each other, but whilst like this, Paul wasn’t at much of an advantage in a battle of wits. He was a mess, really.

Paul tossed his head to the side, rolling his hips. Paul whined and cried as you fucked and tossed him off.

He wasn’t dignified, as Paul often was, but he still had such a beauty to him. The intensity bringing out the worst of him. Ugly expressions, ugly sounds, but you craved it all the same. You’d brought him here.

Your other hand raised one of his legs. It was very heavy. You loved paul’s size, beautiful and delicate, but so strong and large. You swung the leg over your shoulder, allowing you to go deeper, make it even better for Paul.

“Come on, bunny.” You purred.

Paul bit his lip, the chipped tooth giving it a strange look. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, his eyes shut tight, cheeks bunching up, a sheen of sweat. He did look like a bunny. A bunny with a chipped tooth, that is.

“...ooh, baby…” Paul strained through his teeth. It whistled a bit.

You squeezed his shaft more firmly, and began ravishing him hard again. His swollen erection moved in your hand as you did so, giving him the much needed friction. He made another attractive strangled sound.

“Louder, Paul. Let them hear you.”

“Ah-”

Paul made the sweetest cut of noises. He’d gasp and suck in breaths as he was fucked. It was a bit feminine, but it was more that girls were fucked like this more often, knocking their air out whilst they were slammed into.

Paul throbbed in your hand, making more strangled hums.

“Close?” You murmured lavisciously.

Hearing this, the reminder of his imminent orgasm, a violent one building inside him, Paul cried out even louder than before.

“More, more-” Paul slurred nonsensically in a high pitched nasally voice. “Don’stop no,”

You had no intention of ruining his release. It was fun to mess with him, sure, but at the moment you wanted to see him cum. He was so close, and you just knew it would rip through him when it happened.

You slammed in even more erratically, matching the pace Paul needed. Paul’s voice got higher and higher. His cum began to shoot out, landing on his delicate chest.

“Fuckin’  _ hell _ !” P shrieked. It was barely legible, but this was definitely a go-to phrase for him.

You kept up the rough pace as it tore through the poor bassist. You wondered if the girls outside could hear. Paul was being quite loud. He was already loud, and got even worse when he had the chance. You sure were glad to hear that sweet voice.

-

Anytime you’d be this rough with him, you made sure to clean Paul off, soothe his sore muscles, and massage wherever the bindings dug into his skin. Normally it would be satin or fabric, but you’d used rope today.

You stroked his hair as he breathed softly, letting the relaxation take hold.

“You don’t mind the tooth?” Paul mumbled.

  
You looked at him lazily.

“The chip? Not really.” You said. “I’m a bit sad to see the rabbit teeth go, but...”

You pushed up his top lip, grinning at the little imperfection.

“Get it fixed, or not, s’your choice.” You said, voice growing amourous.

You tapped what was left of his left tooth.

“Like I said, a little chip doesn’t make you any less lovely. Still got your angel face.”

Paul shut his eyes bashfully. He turned his head away.

“S’the lip I’m more worried about.” Paul said. “Embarrassing, y’know having my photo printed in those heartthrob magazines with my lip all swollen.”   
  


“I think it’s sweet.” You closed your eyes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Don’t mind the lip as long as its not hurting you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t mean to put down those old lady fans. They scare me, but when it comes out to it, I’d probably be the fool screaming for Paul to step on me while he is trying to have sex with his hot gf.


	20. 31 January 1967

Paul was laying against your chest, facing a mirror. You could see his serene expression and relaxed position, shapely legs parted so your administrations could continue.

You were pushing a simple vibrator in and out of him, a simple sleek white one with controls at the end. It smoothly slid in and out, a comfortable stretch, and vibrations buzzing against his prostate.

He was tired from the day, and enjoying the focus on him, sweetly, lazily moaning as you cradled him, pleasuring him. 

Paul had grown a moustache to cover up his swollen lip, and gotten his tooth fixed. Sadly, it wasn’t the same as before. His left tooth used to overlap the right one a bit, giving him an endearing imperfection.

The mustache was sort of silly. The first time you saw it, you couldn’t help but erupt into a fit of giggles, much to Paul’s indignation. Once you got used to Paul’s first attempt at facial hair, you warmed up to it. It was the same color as his head hair, a nice contrast to his pale skin, sitting just above his plump pink lips. 

“See yourself?” You glanced up at the mirror “There won’t ever be a man born as beautiful as you.”

He lazily opened his sleepy eyes, and looked down his cheeks at his reflection. You’d set it up so that Paul could get a good look at himself. Perhaps see what you did.

“They all wish they were half as lovely as you”

Paul just responded in hums each time, he couldn’t be bothered to form words today.

There were girls outside, some noise. They were excited that the bedroom light was on, signifying Paul was home.

Paul himself was too focused on the toy to notice the sounds.

“What would those girls say if they saw you like this?” You smiled mischievously. “I bet they imagine what you would be like fucking them, all suave and dominant.”   
  


“I’am suaven’ dominant.” Paul mumbled, half forming the words.

Suppose he could be.

“Well, you do take the lead too. But you’re not exactly a romance-novel love interest as you do.” You snorted. “You go at it like a little rabbit.”

You pressed the toy harder into his prostate, and Paul arched his back harshly and hissed, craning his head back into your shoulder.

Paul groaned as the vibrations focused on his prostate.

“Low’r, lower, don’t wanna cum jus’ yet.” Paul hissed, his eyes squeezed shut.

You complied, turning the vibrations down. Paul let out a sigh of relief, getting back into the enjoyment of it, no goal in mind.

He tilted his head, looking up towards you, though his eyes were closed and sleepy. You were pushing the toy in and out of him with one hand, the other curled around his bare chest.

Paul looked so nice in the mirror. So sweet and sleepy, shamelessly displaying himself being pleased. His legs were apart, shifting when the prosthetic dragged against his prostate particularly nicely. His member rested gently against his stomach, not in a particular hurry to release. He leaked the odd bead of precum onto his soft skin. His hands lay resting on either side of him.

Paul turned his head again, his mouth finding yours. His lips were soft and sweet, and his moustache tickled your upper lip. You weren’t used to the sensation. He didn’t kiss with the same level of intensity he did. He was lazy about it. 

Paul opened your mouth, and pushed in his warm moist tongue. You reciprocated happily, taking in the organ, then gently biting his lip.

Paul’s front teeth clicked against yours. He moaned against your lips when the vibrator dragged against him just right. He didn’t shift his hips more than a slight amount.

He pulled back slightly, looking up at you amorously. He was getting there, eyes a bit hazy. Usually Paul would be getting louder, more erratic, perhaps beg and plead, but today there was no rush. He’d let it slowly be coaxed out of him.

Paul laid there for ages, the soft vibrations filling the room. Inevitably, his prick swelled, getting angrier, his release building. His breaths got heavier as it neared.

“Come on bunny,” You said. “You’re almost there.”

Paul stretched out his lovely body, straightening his arms and tilting his neck back. He let out the sweetest sounds, very deep in his throat and drawn out. He had his eyes still closed peacefully, a wide smile on his pretty face. He thrust up slowly, the warm fluid spurting from his slit, landing back down on his nude body.

“Oh, that’s nice” you said sweetly, caressing his soft chest. 

Paul cracked his eyes open, gazing dreamily at yours as he came down from it.


	21. 21 September 1967

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in the Magical Mystery tour universe, an AU if you will. Not that the Magical Mystery tour universe holds any consistency.
> 
> You could also interpret this as screwing around on set. The date correlates to when the scene was filmed.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

McCartney was a real hack. You could hardly believe he’d made it to his rank of Major at all. He was beyond incompetent, completely flippant with every little thing he did. If his battalion ever did win, it was completely by accident, or maybe just the resourcefulness of his men.

Right now even, he looked to be in a world of his own, a spacey look as he sat at his desk. He slowly, very slowly, lifted his gaze from his papers, looking at you with a smile and wide eyes.

“Hmm?” he said.

  
  
  
  


“McCartney...your negligence and _incompetence_ has caused the death of _forty-six_ _people!_ ”

Paul only smiled as his eyes drifted.

“Oh?” He said dreamily. “...things happen.”

McCartney was beginning to get on your last nerve. You slammed both your hands on the table.

“Don’t fucking give me that! What the hell are you going to do about it?”

Paul threw up his hands lazily, apologetic smile on his face.

You seethed. You took your hands off the table, then began pacing angrily.

“There  _ must _ be some way to make you learn.” You muttered at him contemptfully.

Paul smiled as his hazy eyes followed you. An idea popped into your head.

“On the table. Now.”

Paul’s lips parted. His eyes opened a slight amount more, but his eyebrows didn’t move.

“Corporal punishment…?” He said.

“Oh, no.” You said. “That didn’t seem to do anything to you. Might’ve just scrambled your brains.”

McCartney nodded happily. You scowled at him.

“Table.” you repeated

Paul’s expression seemed a touch confused, but he complied, bending over the edge of his desk. You realized he just smudged his ink...he’d just been writing...

Paul raised his head, looking at you questioningly.

“What now?” He asked. Head in the clouds.

You circled the desk, walking around to be behind McCartney. His head turned, gaze following you. You placed a hand on that perky rear of his, running your palm over the curve.

“Got quite the ass on you, don’t you Major?”

“Huh…?” Paul said. He still had no idea what was going on at any given moment.

You suddenly brought your hand down on it, and McCartney squeaked.

“Ey!” He said.

Now got something to say about it, did he?

“Oh, come off it, McCartney. It’s  _ nothing _ compared to all those men you led to their death. You’ve been quite the naughty  _ naughty _ Englishman.”

“Ah, but-”

“That’s enough out of you, Major. Don’t you know how to address your superior when being reprimanded?”

“...yes...Sir?” Paul said tentatively.

You grinned from behind him.

“That's right.” You said.

You gave another firm slap to his rear, before moving your hands to his belt buckle.

Paul’s breath shuddered, but he remembered his position.

You had on your prosthetic, and slid it across the crease of his ass. You slicked it up. You didn’t want to punish him too hard, after all.

“M’gonna fuck you now, Major. Understand? You’ll take it.”   
  


“Ooh, baby…” Paul purred, low in his voice. He was excited by the forcefulness.”   
  


“Remember your position, McCartney!” You hissed at him. “Address your superiors correctly.”

Paul let out another stream of giggles, relishing the absurdity of the scenario. You brought your hand down again, and he let out an audible gasp.

“Do I make myself clear, Major?”   
  


Paul tried to level his breath, stop the flood of low giggles.

“Yes. Right.” Paul strained to stay serious. “Yes... _ sir.. _ .”

He began to giggle harder.

You brought a hand down again as Paul erupted in laughter.

“You think this is  _ funny _ McCartney!?” You said irate. “Forty-three people  _ died! _ ”

You leant down, weighing down his back. You spoke hot right into his seashell ear.

“You’re gonna take your punishment now, y’hear? You’ll never be so careless again.”

Paul shivered.

“Yes. Please  _ ream _ me... _ sir _ …” Paul drew out, humor still in his voice. You could tell he was grinning in amusement. “I’ve been such a naughty  _ naughty  _ Englishman…”

You pushed into his insolent English channel, deep moans coming from Paul as he was stretched out.

“How do you like  _ that _ , Major?”

“Oooh, s’very  _ punishing _ .” Paul groaned in pleasure.

You didn’t hold back, gripping his full hips tightly and fucking harshly into him. Paul braced himself on his elbows as he was bent over the desk, gasping as his prostate was hit over and over. Must be a good angle for him.   
  
“Harder,  _ please _ , harder... _ sir… _ ” Paul gasped, but breathily snickered at your insistence to call you that.

“This is a punishment, Major. You’re not supposed to be  _ enjoying  _ it.” You teased.

You slammed even harder into him, making Paul drop that cocky attitude. You pulled the hair that stuck out the back of his cap. Paul gasped. You shoved deeper. His noises got uglier as your movements got hasher. You pulled his head back, your lips on his ear.

“Are you gonna cum from this, McCartney? From getting fucked by a superior officer?”

Paul’s teeth gritted as his hair was pulled back. He opened his mouth wide as he breathed shallow breaths. He let out a strangled cry of need.

“Maybe this’ll teach you.” You said. “Making you run laps never worked did it? I’ll teach you the way you know best...I heard you rather like the company of women whilst on shore leave. Quite the little tart, aren’t you?”

“Ooh, fuck...I sure do!” Paul strained, voice estatic. “Love a good romp, me! Can’t get enough of’t!”

You brought your hand down hard.

“Thought as much!”

Paul made a move to roll over. You let him, see that pretty thing’s insolent mug. You pulled his trousers fully off, giving you better access.

Paul’s eyes were dizzy, and he wrapped his long legs around you, pulling you deeper as his back arched on the table. You held up his thighs, fucking him good and deep.

“That’ll show you, McCartney.” You hissed

“Ooh, baby…” Paul purred, eyes rolling up in his head.

His dick was hard, swollen and needy on his stomach as you fucked him.

  
“You need help with that, comrade?” You teased.

“Hmm?” Paul giggled in his low voice. “You’re  _ either _ m’superior officer  _ or _ m’comrade. Can’t be both!”

“Shh!” You hushed. You wrapped your hand tight around his needy shaft, squeezing harshly. Paul’s eyes flashed open, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Not such a  _ cheeky _ one when I’ve got a hold on you, are ya?”

Paul’s cheeks bunched up as he grinned in his silly manner. His eyes rolled back again.

“Oh...no...m’not... _ sir _ …”

You squeezed hashly, Paul gasped again, opening his stupidly smiling mouth up wide. Such a silly expression. He thrust up into your fist, pretty muscles in his abdomen flexing.

“Ooh, f’me sir...”

“That’s enough out of you, McCartney!”

Paul nodded giddily. You began to toss him off, much to his pleasure. He shifted his legs wrapped around you, and you pulled his hips closer. Paul whined and moaned lying on the table. Precum drooled from the head. You rolled it in your hand.

“Wanna cum, Major?”

“I do!” Paul squealed excitedly through high pitched breaths.

  
  
  
  


“Do you think you deserve it?” You said full of mirth. “Like you’ve said, you’ve been a naughty  _ naughty _ Englishman.  _ Naughty _ Englishmen don’t get off.”

You abruptly slowed your thrusts just to mess with him. Paul’s head shot up, giving you an indignant look.

“Like hell they don’t!” Paul snapped quite irate. 

You grinned at him, keeping your slow pace.

Paul glared daggers up at you, but then decided to take a different angle. His face pepped up.

“But  _ how  _ am I supposed to learn my lesson if I don’t  _ finish _ ?” Paul said. “You gotta make sure it’s _ drilled _ into me nice and  _ proper, _ don’t you?”

You raised your eyebrows, grinning at him.

“Oh...I see how it is…” You said. “I gotta make sure the lesson sticks, don’t I?”

Paul dropped the cheery demeanor, seething at you.

“ _ Yes. _ ” Paul said dryly. Forcefully.

Regardless of McCartney’s bad attitude, you picked up the pace, making him squeak and hum in enjoyment.

True to your word, you didn’t slow down. You didn’t stop until McCartney was cumming all over his nice little uniform, his pretty face contorted in a scream, making the loveliest little cries.

“There you are, McCartney.” You cooed as you fucked him through it. “Cum all nice and pretty.”

When he came down from it, you slowly pulled out, Paul breathing heavily on the table. You rubbed his soft stomach under his uniform.

“You’ve got your uniform all dirty, soldier.” You said happily.

“Hm.” Paul grunted. He was too light headed from his post-nut endorphins to care much.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would know, the first thing I wrote when planning the story/ it’s placeholder was:
> 
> “Uh oh he’s getting punished by the English military for being a naughty Englishman.”


	22. 12 April 1968

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mother....

Paul’s clothing style had become more psychedelic, moving along with the trends. Gone was the cycle of various well fitted suits.

The lovely colors and patterns certainly suited him. It was incredible with his pretty face and dark hair. You were fascinated by the direction fashion was heading.

However, at times, for various occasions, Paul would dress up. Today in fact, he was wearing a classic black suit, but with the peculiarity of a satin purple tie. It was a good look for him.

Like always, he was able to get you alone as he always did. A room for the two of you.

He knelt in front of you on the bed, hand tangled in your hair as you sucked him off. His breaths were even, fully clothed in the suit from before. Only his fly was down. His satin tie shined in the dim light.

He kept a straight face, pushing your head deeper. He maintained a distant look, eyebrows relaxed, eyes lidded. He had a silly smile, which came to him easily, but he could just as well intimidate with those lovely arched eyebrows, so dark.

The success really went to his head, giving him a heightened sense of self. He was always rather eager for pleasure, and he knew he deserved it. He knew about his beauty, the effect he had on people. He’d fuck hard and take it with glee. It was expected for him.

It was captivating in a way, beauty combined with arrogance. The knowledge and haughtiness of its own magnificence. 

Part of you wanted to blindfold him, tie his wrists together, and fuck him until he lost that pridefulness. The other half of you wanted him to chew you up and spit you out, look down at you with disdain as he took whatever he wanted.

“More,” Paul groaned. His voice was even, his eyes still. He had control over himself.

His voice still sounded gentle no matter the intention. He had such a deep sweet voice, and he couldn’t change that.

He pressed his hips harder, forcing himself deeper in your throat. His eyelids fluttered, a brief moment of weakness. A grumbly breath escaped him.

You breathed deep through your nose for oxygen, his soft pubic hair tickling it. His dick was swollen and heated, filling up your throat nicely. Luckily you could handle taking him deep. Craved it even. You wanted it to be the reason you couldn’t breathe.

Another sweet groan from him. Paul unexpectedly gave a jerk of his hips, making you flinch, but not move away.

“Good,” Paul murmured. He smoothed your hair back firmly, then pushed you deeper.

Paul let his eyes fall shut, savoring the feeling. He made his thrusts slow, letting his arousal stir, but not build too quickly.

The scents were beginning to get intoxicating. Your eyes rolled back, feeling the flesh slide against your tongue.

You focused more on where you knew he was sensitive without warning: his glans and frenulum. 

Paul drew in a surprised breath, and you grinned, looking up at him smugly, his arousal deep in your throat. Puff yourself up all you want, but you’ll always be the same  _ cute _ McCartney as before.

The leathery weight felt heavenly in your tongue. It was not only heated, but moved and twitched, Paul’s heartbeat coursing through it. It was clearly  _ alive _ , a needy organ. You sucked it in deep, closing your lips firmly around it. It made Paul’s breaths more uneven.

Suddenly, Paul pulled you off hardly by your hair, his erection falling from your mouth with a  _ pop. _ You shot him an irritated look.

“Not yet.” He mumbled. Paul must’ve been close, his swollen arousal, all flushed and pink, curved upwards from his undone fly. 

It was quite endearing, being that Paul was all dressed, all immaculate and lovey (save the slight disturbance in the fabric) all the while his sweet cock jutted obscenely from between those full thighs.

Paul moved himself so that he rested against the headboard pillows. He made a “come here” gesture with the first two fingers of his left hand.

You eagerly complied, coming nearer. You tried to take his mouth, but he grabbed your hair again, looking into your eyes sternly.

“My lead tonight, see?” He said.

You nodded, but a slight humor shone in your smile, as if to say:  _ Alright, I’ll play along. _

“Get on, now.” Paul said low in his voice.

His voice was much too sweet to come off as coarse. Perhaps it was the endings of his intonations. Such a smooth lovely voice. Maybe he  _ was _ a siren. It wasn’t as if you could refuse anything he asked of you.

You pulled your undergarments to the side, and sunk down on him.

Paul’s breath hitched, his eyes shutting, gritting his teeth. His shoulders stiffened up, hands finding your hips.

“Thassit...” he hissed. Paul jerked his hips up into you.

You began to ride him, relishing in each sweet sound. You made sure to listen to his commands of “more,” “slower,” and “harder,” all whispered under his breath.

Paul’s eyes opened slightly. They were still distant, lovely and dark, his long eyelashes casting shadowed. What a dark-haired beauty. His teeth were gritted in concentration, drawing out the pleasure. Small sounds escaped his pretty lips.

“Nice, Paul?” You whispered.

“Shh,” he hushed you.

You’d been allowing a slow rhythm, but Paul suddenly lifted you up by your underarms, detaching you from his arousal. His length was slick from your fluids, more desperate now. The wetness made the cold air hit his heated member, throbbing against the open air. Paul winced.

He shifted his hips, reclining more on the bed. You watched him in a trance as he slipped out of his penny loafers, sliding off his dress trousers, exposing his long shapely legs. He beckoned you closer. 

“Use your mouth on me. C’mon.”

Eagerly, you hopped over to him. You licked a stripe down his length, tasting yourself on the heated skin. You ran your tongue over his perineal raphe, then licked into him. You didn't think about where you were putting your mouth. Paul enjoyed it, didn’t he? That was enough. He groaned at the feeling.

You took him in your mouth again, sucking in his arousal.

You added a couple of fingers into your mouth beside his shaft, wetting them. Whilst still sucking him off, you moved them lower, pushing them slowly into him, finding his prostate. Paul gasped once you did. 

You massaged it more firmly to get him to strain and moan, one particularly high cry slipping through. Paul’s left hand pushed your head firmer, pushing you down. He rolled his hips along with it.

“Touch’m” Paul groaned. He wasn’t as coherent. He adored the attention, reveling in it. He continued incoherently, a jerk of his hips. “Give’t.”

Paul’s voice was becoming more slurred, low in his throat as his head spun.

You looked up at him salaciously, making eye contact. His upper teeth were showing, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Paul craned his head back.

You kept working that pretty knob in your mouth, feeling it twitch in your throat. Intoxicating. 

You pressed into his prostate each time you took his entire length in his throat.

Paul’s voice got higher. He yanked you off by the hair. You gasped in pleasure, wide dazed grin on your face. Paul certainly gave you a thrill.

“An’ you call me the naughty one, eh?” Paul teased, still a firm hold on your hair.”You can’t get enough of’t. Love goin’ down on’me”

You grinned wider, giggling as he held your head up, eyes fixed on his.

“You’re  _ delicious _ .” You shot back. 

You ran a tongue over your teeth, eyeing him lavishly. He’d have to try harder than  _ that _ to fluster you. You might enjoy him taking control, but you couldn’t commit to the demure submissive role.

Paul huffed in indignation, arousal still evident by his flushed face, disheveled hair, and swollen erection.

“Put on yer thing, yer gonna fuck me now.” He said adamantly.

“Mmm!” You hummed in excitement.

You put it on, and pushed you down on the bed. Quite easily too. What a strong handsome man you’ve got. His strength still took you by surprise, making butterflies appear in your stomach.

Paul kneeled over you, hovering above the prosthetic. Your hands shot to grab his lovely hips.

Paul’s eyes lit up. Seems that a thought popped into his head. He gave you a sly smile, pushing off your hands.

“No, no…” he said playfully, smugness evident. “Only watch. No touching.”   
  


Your face fell in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” You said angrily.

Paul’s grin grew, eyes widening. He had the upper hand now. Finally, he had something to hold over your head. 

“Yes...” He teased, smiling evilly.

Paul leaned forward, bracing both his toned arms on either side of your head. His back curved enticingly. You whimpered, your hands laying uselessly beside you.

Paul giggled with mirth. He must be getting a kick out of this. Bastard.

Paul lowered himself down, taking his time. His eyes fell shut, his mouth opening in a gasp. He was exaggerating each reaction, just to fuck with you. Bastard.

It was working goddammit. Your cheeks felt hot, your useless hands twitching in restraint as Paul pleasured himself. You wanted nothing more than to touch that soft heated skin. Fucking Paul.

He began to ride you more rhymically, thighs deliciously parted on either side of your body. He kept shooting you taunting looks, his tongue flitting between his teeth.

“Ah, yes…” Paul murmured. He normally wouldn’t  _ show off _ this much. He moved as he wanted, pleasuring himself.

A groan escaped his lips, a more genuine sound. His eyes shut a slight fraction. In a moment of weakness, your hands shot to his thighs.

Paul’s eyes opened quickly, then grinned mischievously down at you. What a stupid fucking grin.

“Ah, ah...no.” Paul said giddily. He shook his finger, then pointed at you, as if he were scolding a child. You glared at him.

His hands shot to each of your wrists, pinning them down on either side of your head.

You made a sound of indignation, but Paul only giggled at your efforts. Dammit he was strong. You could hardly move your wrists in his grip. Damn his strength. He was getting off to this power trip.

Paul’s face began to get redder as he switched focus to his own pleasure. His breaths got higher and his eyes rolled back, big grin on his face. Even when taking control. Paul was still Paul, those stupid grins.

As he got closer, his dick became irritated by the lack of stimulation, swollen as red as he fucked the prosthetic.

Paul’s grip loosened. 

“M’gonna let go now.” Paul said firmly, though breathy with his flushed face and disheveled hair. “Don’ you  _ dare _ use those hands, or you’ll be sorry.”

You huffed, but listened, glaring up at him. Your cheeks burned.

Paul’s left hand quickly found his length, squeezing pleasantly. Paul’s eyes crinkled as he gasped. A pleasurable sensation, he stroked himself off along to the rhythm of the thrusts.

Paul tossed himself off to completion, releasing onto your chest and stomach. Your mouth watered as the warm liquid landed on you, watching it vacate his slit.

Paul lifted himself off, his dick softening. He slumped onto your body, catching his breath, pretty flushed face and parted lips.

  
  
  



	23. 28 July 1968

Paul and his group had a lengthy photoshoot, taking the whole day. You’d definitely say it was more zany than their earlier ones. 

You kept a distance from the group, not getting in the way much. You did flinch, however, when Paul nearly fell to his death. That would’ve sucked.

They went from a flowery garden, to an urban area, then to the docks, before arriving at Paul’s own house.

You adored the pretty pink suit he chose to wear. You noticed, however, how he seemed to get more undressed as the shoot went on. First it was the gold vest to go, then the intricate dress shirt, then the coat and shoes even. At the docks, Paul stripped down to only his pink trousers, playing around with chains, wrapping them around his chest. 

By the time the photoshoot had concluded, the sun was going down. Thankfully, Paul didn’t walk through the city barefoot. He put the jacket back on, but went without his intricate dress shirt.

It wasn’t the first time you railed him...or he railed you... in his “meditation” dome. It was a fun place to get railed, especially at night, the moonlight streaming in from the glass ceiling. You likely wouldn’t be bothered in there either.

Paul was on his knees and elbows, comfortable on the carpets as your weight bore down on him, your breath hot on his neck. His pretty mouth was open and gasping for air as he was fucked.

You nipped and kissed the side of his neck, mouthing his earlobe as you whispered things into his ear.

“Couldn’t keep your suit on, eh?” You teased. “Show off your pretty body, hmm?”

You knew Paul was a bit self conscious as of late. Even with consistent reassurance, whether it be from you or the press, combined with his own big head, it was still possible for self-doubt to develop. Perhaps all that pressure and focus on his looks might be worse for him.

He’d put on a slight amount of fat, a very slight amount though. It made his stomach a touch softer, a bit more padding on his shapely thighs. You adored it, but you could sense his frustration. Things weren’t going too great with his group either. There wasn’t anything major, but a bit of conflict when it came to music.

Additionally, Paul missed the touring, whilst the others were very much done with it. Paul did love to perform, but couldn’t do it if his bandmates weren’t on board.

You raised his hips firmly, going deeper. You weren’t as strong as Paul, but you were getting better at handling his body. It had a lot to do with using gravity and momentum to your advantage. Paul had the guilty pleasure of being physically manipulated whilst being fucked. It gave him a thrill. If only you were strong enough to pick him up and toss him places.

You wrapped your arms tight around his soft body, your forearms touching both the thick material of his pink coat, but also the heated smooth skin of his stomach.

“Nearly died too today.” You muttered to him. “Who’ll fuck you then?”

Paul stretched his arms out in front of him, pretty wrists flexing. He groaned. You kissed the back of his neck, soft hair ticking your nose. It had cooled down since earlier today. You didn’t care much for the summer heat.

Paul didn’t style his hair the way he used to, rather let it lie on his head. You liked it both ways. Now it seemed relaxed, much silkier without the product. The dark brown color was intoxicating as well.

His pretty sounds filled the meditation dome, echoing off the ceiling. He arched his back. You weren’t fucking him slowly or particularly harshly, a healthy pace that’d build up his release.

You flipped him over. Paul looked up at you dizzily, mouth opened, drawing sweet little breaths. His arms were relaxed on either side of him. You ran your hands up his bare chest and stomach. You began to stroke his arousal finally. He sucked in a breath, rolling his hips.

“You’re an exhibitionist, aren’t you Paul?” You whispered salaciously to him. “Can’t say I hadn’t noticed through the years. Maybe you oughta pose for a playboy shoot. I’m sure many would be happy to see that.”

Your hungry expression grew.

  
“I sure would.” You mused.

You moved his shaft in your hand in rhythm with the thrusts, Paul moaning with each one.

You fucked him until he was cumming onto his bare chest, illuminated by the moonlight.

  
  
  



	24. 10 January 1969

You arrived at the house about a couple hours after Paul would’ve returned from the studio. You didn’t see him around the house or hear anything for that matter.

You walked into the dark bedroom, and there he was. He lay resting on the bed, eyes closed and gently breathing. Paul could’ve been sleeping, but his breaths indicated otherwise. They weren’t consistent in the unconscious manner. He was also fully clothed, on his back above the blankets.

He made no movement, but he likely heard you enter the room.

Paul hadn’t been feeling his cheeriest lately. Things with his group were growing increasingly tense. He couldn’t change his bubbly nature easily, and he could still pep up, but he had been more downcast, frustrated sometimes. In appearance too, for the first time in his life, he allowed a beard to grow, hiding his girly face. It framed his eyes well, you thought, the same rich dark brown of his hair.

“Difficult day?” You said to him.

Paul made a low noise in affirmation, again, making no indication of movement.

You wouldn’t tell him this, but you couldn’t blame his group for getting tired of playing “Maxwell’s silver Hammer” for the 600th time. Paul could be a bit of a perfectionist, a control freak sometimes. He was very strong willed. 

Still, you could tell it was getting to Paul, and of course you felt for him. This was the life he’d become accustomed to. He was twenty-one, then immediately had his life taken over by fame. Without the group, what would become of him? He didn’t know any other way.

His low quiet voice came abruptly, shaking you out of your thoughts.

“It won’t be long now, they’re tired of me”

You felt bad. It couldn’t be good to think that way about people you were once so close to. However, it had to be this way. No use dragging it out.

You sat with him a while, on the edge of the bed. You kept his company, allowing him to reflect in silence.

It must’ve been a good twenty minutes before he spoke again.

“Would you take care of me...please…” He said quietly, not opening his eyes.

You moved to indulge him, not needing to speak. 

Paul had asked for this before. He wanted you to “take care of him”, taking your time, every movement slow, all the while he lay quietly, focusing on each drawn out sensation.

He laid still as you undid his fly. Paul was wearing a woolen vest over his collared shirt, but he had taken off his shoes before lying down.

You took him in your mouth. He wasn’t immediately aroused. Paul didn’t ask for this because he was turned on or horny, he rather wanted the comfort of it. He wanted you to take over for him, let his body fill with pleasure, so he could rid his head of thoughts for a short while.

His shaft expanded from the stimulation, heating up slowly. Paul made no movement. You held it in your mouth, waiting for him to swell up.

When he was fully hard, you slowly moved your head up, then down. He sighed.

You took only the head in your mouth, pressing your tongue flat against the tip, tasting the arousal from the source.

You kept the motions slow, drawn out. Paul stayed still, but he seemed more relaxed than before, focusing on the sensation instead of his thoughts.

  
He gently stroked your hair as you got into a rhythm, still very slow. You heard a very quiet groan, a shaky exhale here and there. He toyed with it in his fingers, holding on gently.

You were able to get a soft audible sight out of him. Paul was more into it now. When you looked up, his eyes were still closed, but with some color in his face.

You lifted up, saliva still connecting you to his engorged member.

“Now?” You said gently.

“Hold’on” Paul said.

He turned to his stomach, holding the pillow to himself, pressing his cheek to it.

His back still had that nice curve to it, his hips and rear very enticing.

You gently lowered his trousers, caressing his soft pale skin. You massaged his lower back, easing the stress. His face rested peacefully on the pillow. He didn’t need to worry. He trusted you’d give him what he needed.

You reached around, a firm grip on his shaft to ground him. He moaned lightly from his nose.

You ran another hand up his ass, bringing your mouth closer. He tried not to think too hard when you did this, but the warmth and wetness felt nice to him. Better than your fingers with only the cool lubrication to stretch him out. He leant into it, coaxing you deeper. You could never reach quite deep enough, always just out of reach of that spot inside him. Your teeth against the rim though, gave him a twisted sense of pleasure.

Paul stayed quiet, rather different from his younger self who would always beg for “faster,” “harder,” “more,” screaming and groaning. He was patient, enjoying the warm feeling gradually bloom in his abdomen.

You pulled away. He missed the warmth, but hummed gently as you began to push into him, slowly, inch by inch.

You waited a moment when you were completely inside, allowing Paul to relish in the stretch, enjoy the feeling for longer.

After a minute or two, you placed a hand light on his lower back, letting him know you would begin moving.

You pulled back slowly, not to tease him, but let him savor each moment, await what would come next.

You slid back in, slowly sliding over the spot. The prosthetic you were using had some give, allowing Paul to tighten around it, coax it deeper.

Paul sighed as you slid over it, hands grasping the duvet lightly.

He wasn’t loud, but not holding back on purpose either. With each long stroke, he let out a long deep moan from his nose, sweet breaths gentle from his lips.

It would take longer with this slow pace, but Paul was in no rush to get off. He savored each touch, the comforting hold.

You slid your arms under his shirt, hugging his bare chest. You moved your hands against the soft warm skin. You ran your hands across it, massaging his sore muscles. 

You toyed with his chest, pinching them lightly, tugging gently. You rubbed circles around the buds, pressing into them. You could feel Paul’s heart rate speed up slightly, but he didn’t make noise. You knew touching here made him weak, putting a spell of sorts on him. It always shot straight to his dick, which began to leak under him.

You times it along with your slow thrusts, squeezing gently as you slid across his prostate.

After a few more moments, you reached your hand back down, a hand firm around his shaft, stroking slowly. An ooze of precum leaked from his slit.

“More,” He whispered, low and gentle. It was the first words you got out of him since you started.

You pressed harder, a bit more intensely, but not faster. Paul’s quiet moans got lower, even deeper.

As he got closer, he got less stoic, eyebrows knitted and lips tight. He still didn’t move much though. He knew you’d take care of him. He could let go for once.

When he came, you held him tight in your hand, massaging the shaft, riding him through it with long steady strokes, making sure to expel every drop. Paul furrowed his eyebrows and exhaled heavily as it happened, the intense sensations becoming too much, waves of deep pleasure moving through his navel, making his hips shudder. Sometimes a short high whine would escape from his nose.

You held him for longer, weighing him down, grounding him. This part was just as important. You stayed inside him as he softened. You felt his heart rate slow, your cheek resting on his back. Paul returned to his rest, not quite asleep. Your arms were still wrapped around his chest. You stroked him, letting the tension dissipate. 

He must’ve dozed off. You stayed on him, keeping him warm.


	25. 1969

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit rougher, just a heads up :)

Some days Paul would return to the house angry, not sad. He’d be so frustrated, pent up anger fueling him.

He’d kiss back angrily, using teeth. He’d bite down on your lip hard, sometimes drawing blood.

If you went down on him, he would be impatient, pushing your head down deeper, rough with it. He’d groan deep in his low voice, gritting his teeth.

He’d pull your hair, tugging it harshly. If he was lying down, he’d push your head deeper with both hands, fuzzy thighs tight on your ears, your nose flush against his soft pubic hair. You liked when he’d push your head down, but he used to do it slower before, gradually increasing the pressure. 

You ran your hands down the slope of his shoulders, trying to sooth him. He’d close his eyes, still tense, furrowed eyebrows.

Sometimes he’d take you against the wall, pushing you hard to the surface, sometimes bent over a table, or pressed into a mattress.

Paul was hard and fast, but he didn’t do it with a silly grin like in the past. He used to only go at this pace because he was excited, ecstatic, fucking you gleefully as he shouted in pleasure. Now, he was releasing his frustration, his stare miles away. He could be glaring right at your face, but he wasn’t seeing you.

Paul’s grip was rougher, leaving bruises and nail marks. He slammed into you harshly, holding your body tight enough that it was difficult to breathe. At times like this you remembered his actual strength. He never hit or choked you, but seethed, his mind elsewhere.

Tears of frustration even slipped his eyes as he got closer. He’d be the most rough with you when his violent release was imminent, anything to finally reach it. Paul could chase the satisfaction of his arousal, but it never resolved the bigger issue.

He’d bite your neck and shoulders hard when he came, drawing blood. You had to apply creams the next day for them to heal. Paul would let out deep sounds from his nose, stressing from the bottom of his throat. He used strength you didn’t know he had, going deeper than he’d ever been. Paul wasn’t very large, but at moments like these, it felt like he was tearing you in two.

As he came down from it, breathing heavily, it seemed that he’d come out of the trance, noticing the marks he’d left and your strained expression. He’d apologize, lightly touching them with his hands, a horribly guilty expression. You’d assure him that it was alright.

-

Paul would also want to be fucked. Hard.

He would be loud again, but angrier noises, not his usual melodic sounds and gasps of pleasure. He would shout and groan, eyebrows angry, eyes tight, wrinkling the skin around them.

When you fucked him from behind, he’d only shout for “More!” Paul would always want it rougher, harder. He wanted you to thrust into him roughly, hurt him. He wanted you to dig your fingernails into his soft flesh, squeeze his swollen arousal so tight and harsh that sparks of pain would shoot up his hips.

Paul would grab fistfuls of the duvet, fists clenched tight, cheek pressed harshly to the mattress. He’d want you to pull his hair roughly, crane his neck up. You would, his hair thicker and longer than it was before, soft and cool in your hand. He’d push back into you, always wanting more. He’d shout for you to do it “Harder!” even if you were giving him all you got, tears running down his face. He’d want you to bring a hand down on him, making him shout, but it was never hard enough for him.

He’d even ask you to get bigger sizes, stretching him out. He’d need to widen his thighs as it pushed into him. He didn’t have patience for you to go in slowly. He wanted you to shove it in swiftly, make him cry out at the stretch, hurt him.

He couldn’t be arsed to wait for you to prepare him. He’d shout at you to “Fuck him already!” He’d push back frustrated on your fingers. He once even pushed you over. He was still stronger than you, despite what he may want.

He’d grip the headboard tightly, knuckles turning white, muscles in his back tense.

When he was on his back, you could see his face more clearly. It was pained, contorted with his shouting. You were worried you were hurting him, but he could tell if you held back, being met with shouting and demands.

He’d ask you to choke him, do it harder even. He’d want you to dig your nails into the soft sweet sides of his waist, punish him for the slight weight he’d gained. He’d still kiss roughly like when you were the one being fucked, biting into your mouth, digging his nails into your back.

He’d tell you to punch his chest between your nails, tug them hard. You felt bad to be so harsh in such a sensitive area, his screams sounding much too pained. Again, he’d get mad if he noticed you restraining yourself, yelling at you for “Harder!” You were worried you’d tear the poor things off. They’d become so pink and sensitive, throbbing in pain along with his heartbeat.

Paul would grind his hips up into the prosthetic. You tried your best, but you could only fuck him so hard, but he always seemed to want more. Paul would hold your back tightly, pressing you to him, making it hard to breathe. He’d wrap his long legs around you, making you go deeper. He’d swear and toss his head back and forth, slamming his head against the pillow.

He wanted you to be cruel to his prick as well, squeeze harshly, dig your thumbnail into his slit, something you felt bad about as he screamed so high. It would become so irate and swollen, dark pink and desperate for release.

Paul wasn’t satisfied until he was cumming hard into your fist, cries and shouts so loud you were worried the girls outside would hear. He wanted teeth on him, you to bite down on either his neck or sweet full bottom lip.

Sometimes the intensity would get to him, tears slipping out. He’d give strangled cries in the heat of the moment, but would never let you slow down

After he finished, sometimes more tears would slip out, coming down from the high. You’d stroke his sides, soothing him, kiss the tears from his eyes.

His chest sometimes jumped with a sob. You’d make sure to ground him with your weight and warmth.

  
  
  



	26. 27 May 1973

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole decade was Paul having the worst ever fashion takes. This is the seventies for christ’s sake, and look what he did with it. The worst part is he’s still attractive despite it. The world is a dark place sometimes.

After the group’s breakup, as well as the years leading up to it, the boys changed their individual styles up quite a bit.

Paul decided a mullet was a good idea. He shaved off the beard he had a couple years earlier. Last year, Paul began to quaff up the top of his head, but let the rest of his hair grow out the back and sides. The result was...a shoulder length mullet.

It began to grow on you as well as his head. Though the cut was a bit strange, he had very lovely hair. You’d always wondered what it would look like long. It curled a bit, a soft deep brown, fluffy down his neck.

He had a concert tonight, the last of three in London. He wore this lovely strawberry windbreaker, his nickname “Macca” written across the front. The red and white looked good on him.

Paul had it unzipped as he stretched his arms out in front of him, resting on his knees and chest. The hydrophobic material was a bit strange to feel against your bare skin.

He was a bit over-excited coming back from performing. Paul mellowed out as he got older, but his concert energy never seemed to wane. At 31, he was traditionally older for rock n roll, but his vehement fanbase would beg to differ.

Paul panted against the sheets as you fucked him from behind. He wasn’t as masochistic as he was four years back, but since then enjoyed it when you were a bit rougher with him.

  
  


He pushed up against you as you dug your nails into his hips. Paul didn’t want to wait to get completely undressed, too eager to prep too much either. You always made him wait a minute for you to do so, you didn’t want to hurt him, but Paul would be pent up and ready to go, telling you to “hurry’up!” You suspected Paul liked it when the stretch was a shock, when you prepared less.

“Ooh,  _ fuck _ , baby…” Paul groaned into the duvet. His hands were bunched up in it, voice breathy. “You can do’t harder than  _ that! _ ”

His long hair ran down his neck, brushing against his shoulders. It was curling at the ends from the condensation. It looked so soft and nice. It would feel great in your hand.

You grabbed a fistful of that soft silky hair, able even to wrap it around your hand. You gave a gentle, but firm tug as you kept fucking into him. Paul’s head dipped back, and his body jumped.

“Ooh, _ fuck yes! _ ” Paul whooped, his voice dropped an octave, speaking salaciously “Do it  _ harder _ …”

You didn’t want to tug the lovely strands out, but you complied, giving a sharp pull, making his neck crane back, yanking him up. He let out a delicious low moan, the kinky bastard, he must be enjoying this quite a lot. 

“God, fuck’m harder, baby...“ He strained through gritted teeth, before letting out another groan.

It still shocked you hearing such filthy words come out of his innocent looking face. He’d been unfairly dubbed “the sweet one”, but with his promiscuity, foul mouth, and prideful ego, he was no angel. Bunny rabbit perhaps.

“Christ!” He cried. You were paying extra attention to hit his prostate with each thrust.

You ignored his needy dick, but curled your left arm around his waist, hand holding onto his thick pubic hair. 

You didn’t yank it, but the stimulation so close to his member made him jerk. It was hanging erect under him, though he didn’t mind. It leaked onto the sheets unashamedly, red and throbbing. You’d begun the session by giving him a handie, him thrusting into your fist, but he wanted you to fuck him.

You tugged harder as he came onto the sheets. His head was still yanked back, contorted in a scream. A rather high pitched one at that. You felt bad for the staff at these hotels.

As he came down from it, you ran your fingers through his hair. It was softer now than the mop top years, less products to hold it in place. It was heated from all his exertions. Such a stupid mullet. Paul sighed into the blankets, the tension leaving his body.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is the only 1970s. I am only a George fan. Have no clue what he was doing this whole decade. He was in a band? He toured? He released “Live and Let die?” the first track on my funeral playlist? 
> 
> Nice mullet though. Pull that thing.


	27. 14 April 1980

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll have to suspend your disbelief for this one, boys. Maybe it’s a fever dream. (I’ve been there).
> 
> I finished this chapter last, and I think it’s my favorite, lol :) It’s a rather long one.

You could say you were a bit confused.

You knew for a fact that there was only one Paul, yet there were two here.

Well, not exactly two Pauls. Neither of them quite looked like him. One of them had a bowtie...and Buddy Holly glasses...hair quaffed in a 1950’s style. He was playing a guitar (they both were) but this Paul was playing right-handed. It was as if the real Paul decided to dress up as Buddy Holly...or Hank Marvin maybe...

The other guitarist Paul...well, you couldn’t quite place who he was supposed to be. He had long hair coming past his shoulders. Even with the mullet, Paul’s hair was never that long. He had on a windbreaker and graphic shirt, Japanese characters on it. It was his two toned shoes your eyes ended up drifting to.

They were standing, playing, on these multicolor steps, whilst you were on the bottom. You had to look up at them.

You didn’t recall when they started to play, the both of them doing so the entire time you sat. Right handed, left handed, they were a mirror image of each other.

Their song ended, and their hands retreated from the fretboards. You sat watching them in silence. They finally seemed to turn their attention to you, looking down expectantly.

“Well?” The Hank Marvin one said.

You were very confused.

“Huh?” You said.

Buddy Holly Paul blinked at you. He seemed friendly enough. He was smiling at you however, with both top and bottom teeth instead of that open-mouthed grin Paul was known for.

“What do you think?” He said.

The other one, though not malicious, didn’t share the same bubbly demeanor. He was also looking at you, awaiting a response.

You collected your thoughts.

  
“Uh, yeah, good.” You told them. You smiled at them. They wanted your feedback. “Good job.”

Hank Marvin Paul did a celebratory jig. The long haired Paul looked over at him.

Next thing you knew, they set their guitars down, hopping down the ledges to you. You instinctively stood up.

“Eyo, dolly, how ‘bout you entertain us now?”

The words were suggestive, but Buddy Holly Paul had such a friendly expression. He wasn’t very intimidating.

“Eh?” You said, side eying him as he walked a circle around you.

His friend wasn’t far behind, looking over you from your right side.

Hank Marvin Paul lifted your wrist in an open hand, eyes drifting over your harm. You looked over at the long haired Paul, less forward, but his eyes on you.

The two Paul’s shot each other a look, similar how they did often whilst playing. The Buddy Holly Paul grinned wide when the other one caught his eye.

“C’mon,” The Hank Marvin Paul said. “What’ll happen?”

He placed his hands on your shoulders, placing a firm kiss to your mouth. The long haired Paul’s hand was also light on your lower back as he did so. When Buddy Holly Paul pulled back, the other one tilted your face over by your chin, placing a more relaxed, gentle kiss on you.

“Oh?” You said. What was happening? Things had escalated rather quickly.

Buddy Holly Paul lowered you down, back to a seated position. The other sat down as well.

“Ah, two of you?” You said a bit dizzily.

Hank Marvin Paul nodded giddily. The other placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Ah, alright.” You said.

As they were both Paul, you were attracted to them. Okay then.

Buddy Holly Paul’s grin grew wider, jumping a bit in his seat. Quite endearing.

Being given the go-ahead, he jumped onto you. Quite excitable that one. You fell back into the long haired Paul’s lap.

“Fab!” Hank Marvin Paul said.

He wasted no time in flipping up your dress and putting his mouth right on your... _ oh _ ...You must’ve not been wearing underwear. How strange.

He was about as good as the real Paul. My…

You leant back against the long Haired Paul.

An “Oh yeah!” from below snapped you out of your thoughts. You had to bite your lip as to not laugh. However, the second his mouth was back on you, you regained your enjoyment.

The long haired Paul’s fingers fidgeted with the fabric of your dress. You tilted your head to look back at him.

“Quiet?” You teased.

Paul’s lips parted.

  
“Uh-”

You grinned at his reaction. Suppose he was the Shy Paul, and the other one was, well…

“This cunt’s bitching keen!”

Hank Marvin Paul kept up his talented mouthwork as you lay back onto the other Paul. He watched Buddy Holly Paul’s happy little face from over your shoulder. Smug satisfaction filled you as you felt a hardness begin to develop against your lower back. You looked behind you again, meeting his gaze.

“Sorry,” he muttered, bashful that you’d noticed.

You flitted your tongue between your teeth, grinning up at him. His hands keeping you steady weren’t subtle in the way they felt you up.

Buddy Holly Paul’s head shot up, that zany look in his eye. His hands shot to his fly, impatiently trying to free himself from his constraints. He was hard as well.

“You’re going first?” You asked.

“You fuckin’ betcha!” Hank Marvin Paul chirped.

He went inside in one fluid motion. Not one who liked to wait. Luckily you were prepared from the earlier stimulation. 

You were pressed between the two of them, not half-bad a feeling.

Hank Marvin Paul fucked you just as you’d expect from an exited Paul. Quick and Hard.

“C’mere baby,” he suddenly purred.

Your eyes opened, a bit confused. It wasn’t directed at you.

You tilted your head. Buddy Holly Paul was making intense...seductive...eye contact with the long haired Paul. It wasn’t a second before his mouth shot to his, kissing his double with passion. Wow...

Would this be incest or mastubation…? To make out with yourself…?

The kiss further excite the Hank Marvin Paul, and his hips moved more jerkily from the thrill.

When he detached from his long hair self, Paul moved his attention to you. He looked at you with a wild lustful expression, then began kissing you just as passionately. Though his mouth was on himself not a second earlier, you could only taste Paul...on Paul.

“Mmm!” he hummed excitedly against your lips. The quick pace was already causing his dick to twitch inside you.

He kissed as he always did when this excited, pulling your lip, exploring the crevices of your mouth with that sweet tongue. You weren’t used to the feeling of glasses tapping against your face though.

Despite his shyness, the Paul behind you gave a short thrust against your back from frustration.

“Oh, you want some too?” Paul said, looking at him gleefully.

“Er, yes.” He mumbled a bit irritatedly.

“Alright!” He said cheerily. “Swap?”

You felt movement behind you, a short sharp nod.

Buddy Holly Paul pulled out slowly, a hold on each of your spread thighs. It seemed that he got amusement seeing your warm fluids glisten on his shaft as he slid out your wet entrance. Just for fun, he slid himself against your slit once or twice.

“Alright.” He said a final time. His voice was a bit lower, lust cutting through for the first time.

Once he was out, the long haired Paul pulled your hips up so that he could have access.

“Like this, see?” Hank Marvin Paul said.

You complied. The Paul behind you pushed up your skirt, removing his hard-on from his own constraints. He gently pushed you forward so that you rested on your hands, then he entered you slowly, hands tight on your bare hips.

With the new position, you hovered over where Buddy Holly Paul was seated. You raised your head, looking up at him. He grinned happily down at you, cute cheeks bunching up.

“Eyo!”

“Eyo.” You mimicked, a smug smile on your face. His grin grew wider at the response.

He was still aroused, bobbing endearingly out from his fly, conveniently just below your head. You swiftly took him in your mouth.

“Ooh, baby!” He said

You took it deeper, sucking it happily. Paul didn’t make any effort to stifle his noises, making gleeful little gasps and moans. He thrust up jerkily. Quite the perky thing. 

  
Fortunately, this Paul liked the same things the real Paul did, erogenous zones concerned. You focused more on the speed though, bobbing your head up and down to match his energy.

“Yeah, Baby!” He panted “Fab!”

His enthusiastic reactions made you want to pleasure him all the more. His sweet breaths shuddered, his shapely thighs trembling. You wrapped a hand around one of them, feeling the soft firmness.

Meanwhile, the long haired Paul diligently fucked you from behind. It was a consistent enjoyable pace, his hands wandering, feeling up your body. His long hair tickled your neck floating with the movements.

Hank Marvin Paul’s hands shot to the other Paul’s face again, pulling him into a kiss. You took him deeper in your throat, making his hips jerk up and give an excited squeal. Long haired Paul gripped your hips tighter.

Buddy Holly Paul sat up a bit higher, thrusting deeper into your throat. You gripped his pretty hips tight as he squeaked and gasped from the pleasure. It wasn’t long until you felt it twitch, then he released his first burst of fluid. He was cumming, and you took it eagerly.

“Oh yeah! Shagadelic Baby!” He shrieked. “Yeah!”

It was delicious, hot and sweet in your mouth.

It wasn’t long after when the long haired Paul released as well, deep inside. You finally heard a shaky groan from him.

After a minute where they both stalled, recovering, Paul pulled out of you. You lazily watched as the Hank Marvin Paul softened against his thigh, catching his breath.

Buddy Holly Paul’s eyes refocused and he slapped a hand down on your shoulder.

“That was Groovadelic, baby, yeah!”

You nodded happily at him.

The two of them straightened themselves up, zipping up their flies. You straighten Buddy Holly Paul’s bowtie, and smoothed down the other Paul’s long hair. They both gave a look of gratitude.

As quickly as they appeared, they were gone. Your mind wandered.

An indeterminate amount of time passed. Could’ve been seconds, minutes, maybe an hour, but you noticed the distinct sound of a piano.

How long was it going on for…?

You looked around.

On one of the ledges, the opposite side of where the two Paul’s were. A man playing piano. A keyboard to be more exact.

You wandered over to him, hopping up the steps. You looked over your shoulder, watching his hands move across the keys.

Getting a closer look at him, you realized he was Paul as well.

He had on a shirt and tie, as well as rather high waisted trousers. Another thing was his facial hair, a Charlie Chaplin-esque moustache that you were sure Paul didn’t have the last time you saw him. His hair was slicked back with some sort of gel.

“What’re you doing?” You asked him

The Paul’s head turned to you. His lips were pouted slightly in concentration. He gave you a dramatic look, one eyebrow raised. It did work well with his arched brows, but it wasn’t a mannerism Paul had. Not that you’d seen anyhow.

“What does’t look like?” He said.

You looked down at the keys. He kept playing. The slicked back look rather suited him.

“Who’re you supposed to be?”

Paul’s fingers stopped again. His head turned to you.

“Ron Mael.” He said, as if it should’ve been obvious.

You paused, confused. Paul returned to playing.

“Are you...Ron Mael?” You asked tentatively.

Paul huffed agitatedly, miffed you had to ask.

“No.”

You paused again.

“You’re Paul then?”

Paul kept playing.

“What does it look like?”

You were a bit at a loss.

“So...you are Paul?”

Without moving his head, he scoffed. He just kept playing that song.

Your hand played at his lower back, tracing the curve absentmindedly with your finger.

“Well, regardless, you’re as pretty as he is.” you said offhandedly.

He wasn’t smiling, but that seemed to get his attention, his eyebrows raised as he played.

“Oh?”

“Yes. Don’t you think so?”

He gave you another quizzical look, his hands still moving along the keys.

“Hmm?” He said.

Your eyes wandered to the keyboard, watching as he played. His slender fingers were very lovely as they moved. The tune sounded familiar, it was also what the Pauls from earlier were playing.

You watched and watched. Eventually, he stopped of his own accord. Seemed that he was done. His hands retreated from the keyboard.

“So?” He said.

“Hmm?”

He smiled, a bit suggestively. It was different from the real Paul, or Buddy Holly Paul. His eyes were open wide, a closed mouth grin, more subtle, his soft cheeks bunching up.

“You think I’m a looker, eh?”

You smiled back plainly.

“Well yes,” You said. “Course.”

He clapped his hands together.

“Groovy!” he said. “Let's do this then.”

Much like the previous two, he pulled you to the floor. Paul’s lips quickly attached themselves to your neck. The small moustache tickled a bit, so you giggled.

“C’mon sugar,” He mumbled, lips on your ear. It seemed that his demeanor shifted quickly. “You offered.”

You nodded in his hold. His body was nice and warm, welcoming as the rest of them.

He pulled you into his lap. He was hard against your navel.

“If you’re not Paul…” You mused “And you’re not...uh…”   
  


“Ron Mael.”

“Yes…” You said, then paused. “What do I call you?”

“Doesn’t matter, does’t?” He said.

You undid his trouser buttons, then unzipped his fly, taking his hardening length in your hand. He let out a breath, eyes falling shut.

  
After a moment, Paul lifted you up so that you hovered over him. He kept eye contact as his delicate hand wrapped around his shaft. His gaze was intense and strenuous. A cocky one, eh?

“Such a pretty thing, isn’t it?” You said.

Paul gave you that raised eyebrow look again. You smiled at him. He beckoned for you to sit down. You complied, and Paul let out a his as you lowered yourself down.

“Good?” You said into his ear. You were used to his hair being relaxed, tickling your face as you got closer. It didn’t when it was slicked back.

He groaned and began to rock into you at a regular pace. His eyes fell shut, opening a fraction incrementally, his breaths getting heavy.

His arms wrapped around your back, before moving to your hips, gripping deeper. He tried to force himself deeper. His head tilted back, his lips parting.

You held his face by the jaw, bringing him closer, taking his mouth. Paul groaned against your lips, twitching inside you.

When you finally pulled back, his face was less stoic, his lower lip quivering.

“Hah, not so aloof now, are you?” You said. “Paul? Ron Mael?”

He bit his lip and shook his head in disagreement, but it seemed that he was getting close.

You let him release inside you, hands tight on your hips. He gave a few more rocks, hot bursts shooting into you, before he came down from it.

You waited a moment, before rising to your feet.

Paul got up as well, zipping himself up, straightening his dress shirt and tie.

“Back to your keyboard?

Paul shook his head, smiling. You blinked and he was gone.

Huh.

You hopped down the ledges.

What next? There was a keyboardist, and two guitar players. Was there a whole band of them? Hah! One Paul in a band was already pushing it. 

You wandered around the area, but you couldn’t make heads or tails of the place.

Not a void really, or a stage. 

All the world’s a stage, isn’t it?  _ And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; _

_ And one man in his time plays many parts, _

_ His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, _

_ Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms; _

Man, he was such a cute looking kid. God knew what would become of him.

_...And then the lover, _

_ Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad _

_ Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. _

Quickly that’s what he became, the little heartthrob singing his sweet songs. There was more than one mistress he sang to, wasn’t it? You chuckled to yourself. Loverboy.

_ Last scene of all, _

_ That ends this strange eventful history, _

_ Is second childishness and mere oblivion; _

_ Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. _

You looked away from the colorful ledges, turning on your heel.

Your heart grew once your eyes landed on him. The words dripped from your lips, sweet as honey.

“I’ve missed you, you sweet thing.”

You made over to him, taking his soft cheeks in your palms. He looked down bashfully, eyes crinkling, cheeks bunching up as he smiled. It still did now, but back then his cheeks were so full, still having his adorable baby fat.

Of course you still thought Paul was lovely, you weren’t lying when you told him so. If he had aged, it was in a way that suited him perfectly, but this version of him was the original. So energetic and baby-faced, the dark thick hair you could pull. You’d always lust after this iteration.

You ran your hands down his sides. His body was slender, curvy. He still was today, but at twenty-two, Paul had a clear femininity to him. He was warm, very pleasurable when pressed against you.

  
He breathed shakily against your ear. You’d missed this.

You put pressure against the dip of his back, a feature that drove you crazy, still did. The feminine curve of his back, curving into his ass and delicate shoulder blades. The suit coats he wore clung to it, a very flattering look. The suits he wore in general made him look so proper, immaculate hair too. It was all the better making him come undone.

You played with the coat’s material in your hands, deepening your hold on him. Paul’s fingers toyed with the ends of your hair. You smiled coyly when you felt him harden against your navel, pressing into it. Shot right up it did, already needy. You didn’t even need to touch it.

You breathed him in. You wanted to take your time, but you had to break away eventually.

When you pulled back, his eyes were amourous, as in not particularly lustful. A bit strange for him, especially this era, but whatever. Those eyes were as captivating as ever, dark thick lashes, doe shaped, arched eyebrows. They were thicker back then, his hair darker. The entire time you’d known him, lines would appear under his eyes, the sides crinkling as he smiled.

He went in for a kiss. Sure. His lips were full and plush. He didn’t have the scar on his upper hip yet. The taste was incomparable, the warm tongue. Before he had his chipped tooth fixed, his front teeth overlapped. You ran your tongue over them, missing that little peculiarity.

Paul pulled back slightly.

“You’re beautiful, Luv.” He murmured, voice thick with adoration. He winked.

You were thrown off. He didn’t say that to you.

“What?” you said

You loved to compliment his appearance. Loved it. But when it came to you, you didn’t want to hear it.

Of course, his instinct was to charm women he wanted to sleep with. That was his move after all. You had shut that down from him pretty early on. You didn’t want to hear that from him, genuine or not. If he was attracted to you, it would be understood.

You would be the one to tell him. Paul enjoyed praise. There was nothing better to him than hearing how beautiful he was, how gorgeous he was as you pleased his lovely body. It turned him on.

Your reward, your praise, were his sweet noises in response. His pleading. How he arched into your touch. The delicious taste of his release. That was leagues better than any empty words.

Your preturbance dissipated as Paul went in for a second kiss, deeper this time. It seemed that he wanted to take the lead.

He laid you, oddly gently, on the ground, his touches lingering.

You pulled him closer by his lapels. 

He ground his strained arousal against you. Incredible. He was always so good to go, so full of energy.

“Ooh,” Paul moaned. “...are you  _ sure _ , luv?”

You were a bit confused about his restraint.

“Huh?” You said. “Of course I’m sure.”

“It’s such a beautiful thing, luv.” Paul breathed, still grinding into you, eyes closed dreamily. “Love making is. A connection between two souls…”

He kissed your mouth deeply again. It was passionate, but lacked a certain lust that Paul generally had.

“I’ve been waiting my  _ whole life _ for you, luv.”

Stange. Paul must be pulling your leg, the knave. Must be a gag. You played along.

“It’s so nice to have you again,” You said. “Like this, I mean. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”   
  


You cupped his soft full cheeks, stroking them with your thumbs.

“What a beauty you are, Paul.”

He chuckled, as if you were the one pulling his leg.

“I could say the same thing, luv...” Paul winked.

His eyes were a bit off. You nearly couldn’t tell straight away, but looking at them...they were too...pure.

Paul looked amourous, a bit excited, which you’d seen before, but it was missing... something.

It came to you. There was no hunger there. He seemed to crave you, but his eyes were completely devoid of the everpresent lust. 

Paul had an innocent face, sure, but when you got him to this point, it was clear what he was thinking. He wanted to get off. He wanted to fuck. He wasn’t an innocent flower, a little choir boy. 

This Paul looked cheery. Truly innocent eyes despite the erection pressing into your lower navel. It was slightly off putting. Only slightly.

You brushed it off. You reached down to release the strain of his trousers, unzip his fly.

“Ooh, you're so  _ forward _ , luv.” Paul said bashfully, looking away as if he wasn’t the one sporting an erection.

“C’mon, bunny.” You said. “Let me take care of you.”

Paul’s face became confused, which in turn made you confused.

“ _ You’re  _ going to take care of  _ me? _ ” Paul said, trying to figure it out.

“Yes?” You said.

Paul looked bashful again, a shy smile, looking to the side. His cheeks were pinkening.

“Are you sure...luv?” He asked nervously. “You’d prefer that, rather to me doing it?”

It was endearing, his shy reactions, but seemed rather out of place. 

“Well, either way.” You said. 

You then lidded your eyes, seeing his pretty face. You brought your lips to his ear.

“You could take the lead if you’d like.” You purred, deep in your voice.

Paul giggled, your lips tickling his neck.

“I’ll make love to you anyway you wish, luv.” He winked.

You pulled out his length. He closed his eyes, mouth parted. He let out a sweet gasp as you got in a stroke. It was already so hard, so hot and smooth in your hand. You felt his heartbeat course through it.

“ _ Goodness, _ luv…” He strained. He pushed into your hand.

You began to slowly move your hand up and down, a healthy amount of pressure. His cheeks were getting some color, making sweet little gasps.

“Oh yes,” he sighed blissfully, “Oh yes...”

“Language, Paul.” You scolded humorously. 

The way he spoke was hilariously proper. He was even more crass in his younger days if memory served. He’d swear and groan in impatience, not bothering with flattery once he got you back to his room. Quite the gag he was putting on.

Paul looked a bit embarrassed by the comment, his cheeks already pink from the touches. He looked at you.

“I’m only teasing.” You said. You pulled up your skirt, eyeing him with clear desire. “C’mon.”

Paul looked even more flustered at that, his eyes widening. Was he not in the mood? He wasn’t exactly inexperienced, Christ, especially in 1964. You often couldn’t get a word in before he rammed into you, fucking roughly.

You were going to ask if he was alright, but he quickly began to push into you, face tensed in pleasure. He sucked in a breath. He was already so hard, so ready. Delicious.

“Oh my…” He moaned. “It feels so  _ nice _ inside you, luv…”

It was starting to get on your nerves.

“Why…why do you keep saying that…?” you asked him.

Paul had begun moving slowly inside you, savoring it, taking his time.

“What, luv?” He said breathily. Sweetly.

“Yes!” You said.

He stopped moving. He looked down at you in concern.

“What do I keep saying, luv?”

“Yes, that!”

“What?” Paul said. His eyebrows were drawn, his cheeks pink.

Was he messing with you? You spelt it out for him.

“You keep calling me  _ love _ ” you said. “I know it's a term of endearment, but you’ve never said it so much. Every other damn phrase, Paul? What?”

Paul was at a loss, looking at you dumbfounded, as if you were the one messing with him. He opened his mouth trying to find the words, as if trying to describe something that didn’t need an explanation. He seemed conflicted as well. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“I’m... _ British _ ...luv.” He said plainly, voice dripping with concern, as if  _ you _ were acting strangely.

It hit you.

It wasn’t really Paul.

It all added up. This was a different  _ version _ of Paul. A fantasy Paul, his public portrayal personified. He was bubbly and innocent, sweet and caring. He was respectful, and spoke properly. You could take him home to your parents, have him sweep you off your feet, a perfect Prince Charming. He would be loyal, a celebrity heartthrob to dream of marrying.

Sure, Paul was poised and upbeat, but also horny and foul mouthed. He certainly wasn’t all that, could even be a cunt if he wanted to, controlling, misogynistic.

It was a bit melancholic, having this imitation. It wasn’t the true Paul, was it? Still, it was nostalgic seeing him like this again.

“Alright, luv?”

You looked at his pretty baby-face, long eyelashes and dark arched eyebrows.

“Yes, Paul.” You said sweetly.

You smiled up at him warmly, which made him smile back, still a bit confused. He began to move again.

He moved inside you slowly, a passionate and loving pace. You did find yourself missing the roughness, and energy that the real Paul had

Especially when he was younger, he would fuck quick and hard, happily chasing his release. He took the same energy and boundless enthusiasm he had during performances, using it to drill into you like a jackhammer. He could go slower, like in his ballads, but there was still an intense need behind it. A lustfulness. This Paul was just...making love.

“Paul.” you said.

“Hmm?” He had his eyes closed, a sweet smile on his face. He did look very pretty like this. Serene and sleepy.

“Do you mind if I take the lead?” 

Paul’s pink face flushed further, he seemed bashful again, like you were suggesting something particularly raunchy.

“Sure, luv.” He said giddily, as if he were doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

You switched positions so that Paul was under you. He seemed surprised, sitting up when you moved down his body, holding his erect member in your hand.

“What’re you doing?” He said.

You grinned up at him amorously.

“I’m going to suck you off now,  _ luv... _ ”

His eyes widened. Hadn’t the poor thing gotten a good nosh before? He seemed to keep getting flustered. Perhaps an innocent Paul wasn’t too bad a concept. The real Paul could get so smug with his ego and all. Cocky little thing. He did end up mellowing out over the years you supposed.

You gave him another loving look, then took the swollen head in your mouth. Paul laid his head back down and arched into the sensation, moaning.

You took it deeper, the rubbery head pushing into your throat. The feeling never got any less incredible. His pubic hair was so dark and thick, capturing the scent of his lust.

This Paul was a gentleman, he didn’t push you head down. At least he still rolled his hips along with it, giving light thrusts when he couldn't hold back. His noises were deep and sweet, desperate hums. It filled your entire body.

You didn’t want him to cum so soon. You wanted to take your time with him, savor it. After winding him up a bit more, letting him enjoy your mouth, you lifted off.

“Oh yes,” You said thickly. “I’ll take good care of you, sweet thing…”

You climbed onto him, lowering yourself onto his length. You watched his face intently, seeing his adorable reactions. He was so flustered, so giddy, eyes rolling back and smiling mouth falling open as you enveloped him. It looked like he was flustered by the concept especially, the woman being on top. How perverse.

You rode him faster, trying to capture the enthusiasm the real Paul had. He gasped and lightly grasped your hips.

“Good  _ heavens _ , luv!”

He got more breathless as he got accustomed to the quick pace, but still spoke nice and proper, not using any impolite words.

“Hah!” Paul gasped. His voice became strained as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Ooh... _ luv _ ...think m’gonna…”

You lifted off him. Confusion washed over his face, before looking offended.

“What…?” He said, a bit miffed. 

Poor thing couldn’t say anything more abrasive than that. The real Paul would make his displeasure  _ very _ evident, groaning and cussing at you. You smiled. The cunt.

You looked around. You wanted to fuck him. If only you had your prosthetic.

...

Oh...there it was. On the floor over there. How could you have missed it?

You moved over, picking it up. You looked over it. 

You looked at the younger Paul. His head was turned toward you, resting on his elbows. He was looking at you wide-eyed.

“Ah...I see.” Paul said a bit nervously. He might be innocent, but he could figure what it may be used for.

You smiled at him reassuringly.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,  _ luv _ .” you said. “I can keep riding your pretty knob if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Paul parted his lips in uncertainty. They were so full back then. A real heartthrob.

“I...want ta.” He murmured. 

Your chest filled with warmth hearing his tone. It was a touch lower, a hint of lust, curiosity. For a moment, he seemed like his true self. 1964 Paul.

Paul wrapped a ginger hand around himself, feeling his engorged arousal.

“Going inside me…” He muttered. His voice got even quieter, lower. “...feels good…?”

You nodded happily, gaze fixed on his. He wet his lips.

“Yes Paul-... _ luv _ .” Your voice dripped with lust. “It feels  _ very _ nice. You  _ love _ it. All pretty and whiny while I fuck you.”

It was all so ironic how the language made Paul flush and look away. His shaft still rested in his left palm. He weighed it in his hand.

“You want to, Paul luv?”

“Ah,” Paul wet his lips. Innocent or not, he was physically worked up. He wanted pleasure. “Yes.”

With his blessing, you leapt onto him. Your prosthetic slid against his length and Paul shivered, pretty eyes falling shut as his lips trembled. Such a demure little thing, none of Paul’s cheek.

“Gonna fuck you now…” You purred into his seashell ear. “... _ luv _ .”

Paul whined.

You began to push into him, his full thighs wrapped around you. This was a sensation you loved, so firm and soft. You began to fuck him, slowly increasing the pace. You made sure to hit his prostate, make sure he enjoyed it.

Paul’s sweet scrunched up face was nose to nose with yours as he breathed his cut-off breaths, landing hot on your face. He was so  _ so _ pretty. 

“Oooh yes, oh yes! oh yes, that’s good, luv, oh yes.”

Would it kill him to toss in a “Christ” here and there? Maybe even a “god”? It was like you were sleeping with the queen or something...

“Come on, Paul. You can swear if you want.” You said sweetly. You kissed his heated neck. “I won’t judge.”

Talking was a bit difficult for him. He needed to catch his voice.

“Ooooh, but  _ luv _ ....” He strained high in his voice, desperate, his eyes squeezed shut. “...it’s... _ impolite… _ ”

Paul cried out again in his beautiful voice.

“It’s alright.” You breathed into his ear. “I’ll give you a pass…”

He was getting close, Paul’s breaths getting more desperate. He leaned forward, bringing his lips to your ear.

“...ooh, baby.” He said.

You were taken by surprise. The tone was exactly right. It was low, thick, pleading.

You perked up, looking into his eyes. The lust was clearly visible, so close to orgasm. It cut through his innocent romantic gaze. Warmth bloomed in your chest. He seemed like himself again.

“Yes, Paul?” You said expectantly.

His eyes shut and his head tipped back. He made another gasp, shivers running up his body. He let out a shaky exhale.

You could barely hear him. He was embarrassed to say it, a naughty word...but barely audible, the sounds escaped his lips.

“... _ f’me...please... _ ”

Your lips collided with his, kissing him harshly. He kissed back, matching your intensity. His hip movements became more erratic. He swore and groaned against your lips, making you fuck him even harder. His grip was finally hard on your body. You felt a hot liquid splatter against the underside of your chin.

You held onto his lower back, pulling him closer, riding him through it. His sounds were deep and sweet. You held onto him for a bit, stroking his back as Paul caught his breath.

You pulled back to look at his face again. His eyes were shut, wrinkling his nose with a little smile. The moment he opened his eyes, he’d regained his innocent look.

Still, you pushed his bangs back, stoking his soft hair, heated from the condensation. Paul sighed, enjoying the contact.

You held him a bit longer. His body was warm, his breaths making his chest rise and fall. It was quite relaxing.

Paul’s body stiffened up, making you pull back. He looked at you a bit apologetically.

“I’ve got to go now, luv.” He said softly.

“Oh?” You said. 

Where did he need to be?

You lifted up, allowing him to get to his feet. You sat on the floor looking up at him.

“I’m sorry, luv.”

He gave a stupid flirty wink...Maybe this was for the best.

He was just an imitation after all. A very bittersweet feeling came over you. You could still taste his sweet mouth, firm delicate skin, soft fuzzy thighs. He walked off, shrinking along the horizon.

You hated to see him disappear into the endless horizon of your surrealist dreamscape, but you loved watching him go.

He’d since disappeared. You sat humming the song the previous three Pauls had been playing.

_ You want a better kind of future, one that everyone can share, we’re not alone, we all could use it, stick around, we’re nearly there… _

You felt a presence behind you. You turned your head, looking up.

“Ah, its you.” You said. “Hello Paul.”

“Hello.” He said.

It was the current Paul. He had on a white shirt and dark blazer, a red flower on his lapel. It was nice to see the familiar sight.

He sat beside you.

You gravitated towards him, holding the lapels in your hands. Paul’s eyes followed your movements.

“Where have you been?” You asked him.

The memories from earlier were a bit hazy. Your memories didn’t solidify quite well here.

“Oh, y’know.” Paul said. “Out doing stuff.”

You nodded.   
  
“Right.”

You looked over him, he seemed normal. Your eyes moved over his chest, his hips, his legs. His hands were folded in his lap.

“Alright, Paul?” You said.

“Hmm? Yeah.”

You looked at his face. He seemed completely normal. He was speaking as he normally did as well, responses you’d expect from the real Paul.

You moved onto his lap. His arms instinctively curled around your body.

You looked down at him. His eyes were lidded, looking back seductively. You smiled back at him.

“Say, Paul, do you know where we are?” You asked him.

Paul’s expression shifted to a thoughtful one, eyes looking up and to the side.

“Er…” he said.

Paul looked around the void.

“I’d say we’re all in the mind...you know?”

You nodded.

“It looks like it.”   
  


“My mind or yours?” Paul asked.

You thought for a moment.

“Can’t say.”

After the four other Pauls, it was nice to have the real one back. You’d known him for eighteen years, watching as he accumulated success, growing over the years. There were faint lines around his eyes, developed by the ease in which he smiled or laughed. The lines by his nose and lips were a touch bolder. It didn’t detract from his beauty in the slightest. He’d earned them.

You pressed your lips to his cheek. What a pretty man.

You traced his features, memorizing them further. He endearingly scrunched up his face, his eyes crinkling. You ran a finger down the slope of his nose, over his soft cheek, he giggled as you ran it underneath his chin, tracing his adam’s apple. You ran your finger down his cupid’s bow, then resting it against his beautifully shaped hips. He looked at you deeply with lidded eyes as it stalled there.

You toyed with one of his earlobes between forefinger and thumb. He tilted his head, then ran a hand through his hair. He hummed pleasantly from that. It was very soft in his youth, but still very nice to the touch. After losing the mullet he had for much of the 70s, he’d switched his style back to one that resembled his younger days, complete with the bangs. It always did frame his face well.

Your hands moved to unbutton the blazer, then you ran your hands down his soft sides, blocked only by the white cotton shirt. Paul hummed again, a bit deeper.

Things became a bit fuzzy, your consciousness became a bit unreliable. Where were you?

You were on him. Inside him, fucking him with the prosthetic. Paul’s voice brought you back to reality.

“S’good.” Paul breathed from his pretty parted lips. You were a bit confused, but not put-off in the slightest.

You thrust into him slowly, and Paul gave a delicious moan. His hands were gently curled around your wrists. His eyes were closed. How lovely.

You changed your angle, trying to find that sweet spot of his. You succeeded and Paul whined, eyes squeezing tighter, biting his lip.

“There you are, Paul.” You said with a smile.

He cracked his eyes open, then smiled back at you. What an angel.

You kissed him, those lovely soft lips against yours. He groaned against them. Paul seemed so relaxed, enjoying the sweet pleasure you were giving him.

You increased the intensity, only a slight amount, mouth still on his. You gently bit his lower lip.

You gave another firm thrust, and Paul gasped. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, then his neck, then his ear. Paul’s arms were wrapped around your back.

His breaths were so sweet. His hands held onto the fabric of your dress. You curled your arms around his shoulders, going deeper. You kissed his small nose, then his lips again.   
  
Paul rolled his hips.

“More, baby,” He mumbled. “M’close...c’mon.”

His eyes were unfocused, rolling up in his head. His mouth was sweetly parted, small breaths escaping it. You held his face, and kissed him again. Paul’s exhales fell against your upper hip. His heart was beating quickly. He jerked his hips.

His full thighs curled around you, coaxing you deeper.

You complied. Paul sighed and exhaled.

His quiet whimpers got higher as you paid extra attention to hit his prostate.

Paul’s body tensed, his back arched. He let out a prolonged cry as he released between the two of you.

You lifted up slightly, looking down at him, the disheveled appearance and pink face. How beautiful. His thighs were spread wide apart, the fluid drying on his sweet skin as he softened. His eyes crinkled when he closed them, his cheeks bunching up in satisfaction.

You went to touch him, but you couldn’t…

It was as if he wasn’t there...frustrating…

You couldn’t focus on him. Things were beginning to unravel. Your thoughts wandered aimlessly. You felt quite dizzy.

A pain made itself known in your head. You felt...feverish. Your head felt heavy as your consciousness shifted.

Say, you weren’t in a void at all. You were in bed.

You didn’t feel half good. In fact, you felt sickly and hot, wrapped in the blankets.

“Eh?” You mumbled sleepily. You couldn’t say where you were. There was a weight beside you, a dip in the mattress at the edge.

“Hey, man.”

Paul’s voice. That much you recognized. Felt nice to hear. You still felt shitty physically though.

You cracked your eyes open a fraction.

“Hey...it's you.” You muttered. What a pretty face. You were glad to look at it.

A wave of discomfort washed over you. Christ, you felt sick.

“Yeah, you feeling any better?”

You sure as hell weren’t.

“No...” you mumbled. 

The rag he was pressing to your forehead didn’t help much. The warm wetness against you made you feel sweaty.

There was a sound bothering you...a very repetitive upbeat one. You shut your eyes, groaning.

“Christ, Paul. Wouldja turn that off?” You muttered.

“Hmm? You said you loved  _ Coming up. _ ”

You folded the pillow around your head.

“Yeah, s’one of your better ones but…” You said. “Any noise right now makes me want to blow my eardrums out, you see.”

“Ah.” 

Paul lifted from his seat on the mattress, the dip disappearing. He took the needle off the record.

“Better?”

“God, yeah.”

Paul sat back down. You closed your eyes, relief washing over your heavy eyelids.

“You were muttering my name under your breath, y’know.” Paul said mirthfully, a bit suggestive. “Any interesting dreams?”

You looked him dead in the eye.

“No.” You said flatly.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funnily enough, when I have a fever, Paul’s music is the only one I can tolerate. I couldn’t stomach the music I normally vibe with super hard like “All Things Must Pass” and “Breakfast in America”, but Red Rose Speedway came on and I was like “This is it!”
> 
> For the record, I do not know a thing about Ron Mael and Hank Marvin, besides looking them up. The first two were based after them according to Paul, and the other guitarist was just a “silly character”


	28. 23 October 1984

Paul was stuck waiting in traffic. It was a real drag. 

It was a gloomy day, but nice and comforting in its mellowness. The rain hit the car roof, making pattering sounds. You were both in the back seat, being driven to Paul’s offices. Paul himself was busy writing things on his papers. Sometimes it was legalities, business-orientated things, or thoughts and ideas he didn’t want to forget.

The radio host was speaking, then transitioned the station into a song.

You lifted your head from his shoulder, pepping up. You whispered to him.

“Remember the day you wrote this one?” You whispered to him. “We were in that park.”

Paul’s eyes flitted from his notes, glancing at the driver, then back at you.

“Yes…” Paul said. It seemed that he remembered, judging by his pinkening cheeks. “...I do.”

Paul flushed so easily. It was as if he couldn’t recall half the obscene things he’d done over the years. How funny. 

“It was empty that day,” You whispered. “...so we found that shady tree, and-”

“Yes. I know.” Paul hissed, cutting you off, worried the driver would hear.

It wasn’t very likely that he would. The rain was loud, and he’d turned the radio higher once the cong came on.

You brought your lips closer to his ear. You whispered along with the song.

“And then we’d lie, beneath a shady tree...I love her and she’s loving me…” You giggled, interrupting the song. “Not quite lovemaking what we did, I’d say.”

You picked it back up, whispering along.

“...she feels good, she knows she’s looking fine…” You punctuated the words, mimicking his bubbly voice. “...I’m so proud to know that, she is mine…”

Paul glanced out the window, then back to the driver, a bit flustered.

“I’d be afraid to hear the song  _ you’d  _ write from that day.” He muttered playfully. “Mine did, but  _ yours  _ wouldn’t get past the censors.”

“In 1966?” You said amusedly. “No, it wouldn’t.”

You pressed your lips to his ear, voice even lower.

“I’d say you’re just as irresistible now as you were then.” You purred. “And you’re not stoned all day long.”

Paul coughed into his hand, eyes forward.

“Well, it helped me write  _ Got to Get You Into My Life, _ didn’t it?” He said. “That one’s your favorite, you said.”

You shook your head playfully.

“No, no,  _ I Want to Tell You _ is.” 

Paul scoffed. You put your hand on his thigh with amusement.

“Come on Paul,” You said, patting his leg. “You know  _ nobody _ can sing the way you do.”

That seemed to placate him. His head rested on your shoulder, your hand still on his thigh.

“Hey, I think we may need to pull over.” The driver suddenly said, turning down the music. Paul lifted his head.

“You what?”

“Something’s wrong with the engine...I’ll have to see about phoning somebody.” He said. “Terribly sorry.”

Paul parted his lips, but nodded.

He pulled into a rest stop parking lot. It was rather empty.

The driver unbuckled himself, he stepped out, sticking his head in the car.

“Give me a minute...awfully sorry.”

“S’alright.”

The driver walked off, leaving you in the car. The engine was off, the only sound being the rain hitting the roof.

Paul put his head back on your shoulder.

“Ah, well.” He said.

The cold from outside might slip through the cracks eventually, but Paul’s body was large and warmed. He tapped his fingers on his thigh.

“Remember that day at the park?” You said again, cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Paul responded lazily, not moving his head.

You grinned mischievously, the memories replaying in your head.

“It was hot that day.” You continued. “You were wearing your jeans. Maybe a bit too much for the heat. Had to unbutton your top to show off your pretty chest.”

Paul’s lips parted, holding a breath. He waited for you to continue.

“I had my sundress on. Pretty easy access wasn’t it?”

Paul slowly nodded, head still resting on you. His hands were clasped together, messing with his fingers.

“Good thing nobody else was there…” You said. “Must’ve liked my legs or something, maybe it was me unbuttoning your shirt...but you popped right up!”   
  


“Yes…” Paul mumbled. His voice became thicker, recalling the same memories. “Fuckin’ sundress. Was like you were wearing nothin’ at all...Jus’ yer knickers and that thin white thing.”

“Well...it was hot out.

  
“Yeah it was.” Paul said suggestively.

You side-eyed him smugly.

“I felt good, eh?”

Paul gave a firm hum of affirmation.

“Fuckin’ damn you did.” He muttered. His voice got thicker, less pretty and poised, much less eloquent. The lesser seen side of Paul. 

“Sucked me right in...fuckin’ hot. Felt like m’dick would melt off.”

“Tell me,” You said into his ear. His face was hot.

“You fucking lay on me, tits pressed against m’chest. Could feel them through that damn sundress. Didn’t care even if someone saw us, felt so fuckin’ good. Was hot out too...was sweatin’ like a damn pig.”

“You didn’t look like a pig.” You said. “Your face was all cute and pink, with your messed up hair. It felt so  _ good _ inside me...much hotter than normal.”

You kept playing with his thigh as he spoke, more incomprehensible as it went on.

“Gripped yer hips for dear life. Wanted ya to go faster and ya did-”

Paul suddenly stopped speaking, which made your hand stop. Paul looked up, cheeks pink.

“Dammit.” Paul muttered embarrassedly. He was rock hard, straining against his trousers.

You chuckled at his expense. He looked so flustered. You pointed at it.

  
“Need help with that?” you said.

Paul looked agitated. He crane his neck, looking around the parking lot. There was no sign of the driver. 

“No I-” Paul said worriedly. “It probably won’t be long…”

“C’mon, Paul.” You said. “If it's the engine we’re probably gonna have to wait for a truck to come.”

Paul huffed in frustration. You’d got him worked up.

“Fine.” He said under his breath. “Quickly…” 

You nodded, then slipped from your seat. He was still holding his papers and pen, so you ducked under them, between his lovely legs.

“Quickly,” Paul repeated quietly. You nodded and beamed up at him.

You were quick to unzip his fly, pulling out his shaft. Twenty years ago Paul would be desperate right away, but now it’d take actual touches to get him to that point. Still, it was fully aroused and heated. Ready.

Paul groaned, tangling a hand in your hair as you took him in your mouth. The heat was always delicious, familiar and pleasant.

You began to move your head, pushing his thighs further apart with your hands. Paul hummed again.

“Tha’s good,” Paul slurred, mumbling. He pushed your head lower, his gaze drifting upwards. His other hand still held onto his notes.

You kept going, Paul getting to that desperate stage. His dick began to fill with blood, pinkening and darkening in the beautiful way it did. You could never get enough of his arousal.

You pressed your tongue flat against his frenulum, then took him all the way to the hilt. Paul gasped, jerking his hips, making you gag. Your eyes rolled back. Incredible.

Your movements sped up, you toyed with his perineum. Paul wanted it quick. You never minded drawing it out, though perhaps even going frustratingly slow. You loved getting Paul desperate, whining and begging for more. You weren’t in the privacy of his bedroom though.

With your quick pace, his orgasm neared quickly. Paul twitched in your mouth, shivers running down his hips.

Suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at the backseat window.

Paul’s head jerked around. The driver was just outside, tapping on the window.

Paul rolled down the window, face pink. You were covered by the papers he held, but hopefully the driver didn’t look down.

“It’s gonna be a bit, you mind waiting in the car?” Said the driver sheepishly. “...Gotta stay on the phone. A truck’s gonna come by in a bit.”

Paul gave a jerky nod. His dick twitched in your mouth. You grinned. Exhibitionist...Thrill seeker Paul... the drivers face so close to his. He was able to keep his voice in.

“Alright. Sounds’good.” Paul breathed.

He was close too...such terrible timing the driver had. You stopped your movements upon hearing the noise, but Paul’s poor arousal twitched again, you couldn’t ignore the sweet thing.

“Say,” the driver said. “Where’s the lady?”

He looked around the parking lot, looking to see if you’d walked off. Paul’s leg jerked as you opened your mouth, taking his dick deeper.

“Restroom.” Paul squeaked. 

If the driver didn’t take note of Paul’s flushed face, and didn’t look down, Paul could pass for normal. The driver could just assume his cheeks were pink from the cold. They did get pink in the cold, Paul was rather pale after all.

“Ah, I see.” said the driver. “Sorry again about all the trouble. I really appreciate you not getting worked up, y’know.”

Paul smiled, raising a shaky “thumbs up”. There was his classic charm and personability.

The driver smiled back, the cheeriness reflecting onto him.

“Great!”

The driver walked off. Paul keeled over.

“Fuckin’ dammit!” Paul hissed to you.

You hummed, his stiff heat in your mouth. Paul couldn’t get too mad, as aroused as he was.

The second the man walked off, Paul’s dick pulsed, releasing the first shot into your mouth.

“Wait, Mr. McCartney…”

Paul’s body shot up, his head jerking towards the voice. The driver was walking back to the open window.

Paul couldn’t stop his orgasm once it started. His face was red, eyes teary. When he opened his mouth, he could only let out a cry. His hand tugged your hair.

The driver looked concerned. He stood, looking down at Paul from the window.

“Mr. McCartney, are you alright?”

Paul squeezed his eyes back and gritted his teeth. He released every last drop into your mouth. A shaky whine escaped his pretty lips. He gave a jerk of his hips.

The driver’s face was flustered as well, watching Paul’s sweet reactions. He couldn’t see lower, but it was rather obvious what was coursing through his body. He didn’t seem repulsed in particular, surprised maybe, perhaps even enraptured by the display. Paul had that effect on people.

“Mr. McCartney?” He said in a small voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like the 1984 movie, it was all a dream owowowoowo!


	29. 15 July 1986

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song “Press” is technically about getting massaged.
> 
> "Right there, that's it, yes/ Oh when you feel the stress, don't just stand there"
> 
> "You can give me what I want I must confess/ My body needs attention, my mind is in a mess/ Tell me to press!"

Paul and you were alone in his studio. He had to finish up some things, and you hung back.

The things did get finished. At the moment, you had him on a table, lying on his back as you fucked your fingers into him. Paul arched his back and moaned. You had no worries of being walked in on. All the session men and personnel had left, leaving Paul free to moan all he wanted in that sweet voice. 

His new single he’d just put the finishing touches on earlier today played from the tapes. Once he got you alone, he played it for you. You listened again and again. It was a rather good one, you were sure it’d do well.

“Press, hmm?” You said.

Paul groaned again. You weren’t holding back from rubbing hard into his prostate. It drove him crazy, that little spot. His eyes were blurred and his hair was disheveled, completely consumed by the sensation. You loved watching him unravel.

“I’m so glad you let me find this little spot all those years back.” You said adoringly, pressing harder to accentuate your words. “It’d be a crime making you go your whole life without feeling this.”

Paul wasn’t eloquent enough to give a response. He cried again. You’d been fingering him for a bit, but hadn’t paid much attention to his sweet knob. Not that he minded. His mind was essentially on cloud nine, building up to his release.

You pressed harder, massaging into that little spot. 

“Want me to touch your knob, Paul?” You murmured, grinning sweetly up at him. Paul nodded enthusiastically, his eyes still spacey.

You ground into it harder, covering the entirety of the spot, then wrapped your left hand around his shaft, squeezing it. Your focus was on his prostate, but you gave it a couple firm strokes.

Shivers went through Paul’s entire body. He threw his head back. You watched his sweet pecker twitch in your hand, all needy and swollen. 

“Wanna cum, Paul?” You asked. You spoke along with his recorded singing, mimicking his voice. “Your body needs attention, your mind is a mess, tell me to  _ press _ …”

You pushed your fingers hard into his prostate at the final word. Paul cried out.

“Very nice, Paul.” You grinned.

Paul whined and cried, legs tensing up. They began to tremble.

You didn’t even need to touch his dick much, yet he was cumming. You watched his face scrunch up as the fluid released from his swollen head, landing on his pretty chest. Luckily you pulled up his shirt. Damn, age didn’t do a thing to him. His body was lovely even now. Seeing him cum all over it worked you up more than anything.

Paul’s legs relaxed. He looked down at you as his breaths returned to normal. You gathered some of his sweet fluid on your finger, bringing it to your lips. You smiled down at him.

“Again, Paul?” You asked. His eyes widened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Press is his best solo song. It is obvious.


	30. 1993 - Press

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thrilling conclusion!

Even at 51, Paul was touring again. He sure loved it. 

If you were him, you would’ve retired to a private island with your own personal harem twenty years ago. Suppose he was a better man than you for that. 

If there was one thing you admired about him, it was his drive, his never ending ambition. Paul didn’t seem to slow down with age, the same enthusiasm for his work that he had when he was just starting. He was truly in his element whilst creating or performing.

It was nice to be home though, finally you had him to yourself. As soon as you entered the foyer, you pressed your lips against his, feeling his warm body against your. You wrapped your arms around the dip in his waist, pulling him to you by the curve of his back. He had a feminine look to his body even now.

1963 was thirty years ago, and he was older, but still very lovely. Some creases had formed around his eyes, the skin around them crinkled endearingly when he smiled. Besides that, there was the natural wear and tear that would eventually appear on your skin throughout the years. 

You didn’t mind any of it in the slightest. He was the same man. He carried himself the same, had the same mannerisms that always entranced you. He kept his endless optimism, enthusiasm for life, the passion.

He hadn’t brought it up, but you noticed the subtlest signs Paul was getting frustrated by his inevitable aging. 

It seemed that people revered due to their beauty, people like him, found it became a part of their identity. It was something they were admired for, it defined them. It hit them harder than others when evidence of their age began to appear.

Since Paul hadn’t, you didn’t want to bring it up. You thought it’d make him feel worse if you picked up on his insecurity. Instead, you’d made a point to show how you still very much craved him.

This house was out in the country, obviously the city wasn’t the best place for privacy. You were thankful though, that things had calmed down over the years.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to get your hands on him for the past few days. Another thing that had thankfully not disappeared was his sex drive. He loved sex, and he wasn’t going to let time slow down his libido.

Paul reciprocated the kiss enthusiastically, his hands getting tangled in your hair. He pressed his crotch harder into your body instinctively. You gently maneuvered him over the wall, pressing him against it. Paul smiled into the kiss as your hands explored his beautifully arched back. He grinded against you as you pushed him to the wall harder.

You broke the kiss, retreating slightly away in order to see his pretty face. Lovely. He had such a sweet expression too, smiling softly. The crinkles around his eyes became more pronounced, and it brought more emphasis to his dark hazel eyes. As his laugh lines came from his quickness to smile, it couldn’t be seen as a flaw.

You ran your hands down his sides, stopping at his hip bones where you massaged him with your thumbs. With him being so active still, you made sure to massage places when you could, releasing the tension and soreness that may develop. 

You hoped he never pushed himself too hard. You knew he wouldn’t accept it if he ever noticed an inability to do something he once could. He was stubborn that way. It made you a bit sad. Unlike yourself, he would never be done, always wanting to do more. There would eventually come a time where he would be forced to stop. You hated to think of the day.

You palmed him through his trousers, enjoying the feeling of it against your hand, massaging the area. Paul closed his eyes in concentration, parting his lips. If there's one thing you learned over the years, it was exactly what he needed at the given moment, what his reactions meant. It was a worthwhile skill.

You undid his fly and took him in your hand. Thirty years back, he would be completely hard at this point, desperate for it. Now, it took him a moment. You sort of enjoyed this as well. He would slowly fill up and grow, and you could play with it, feel him twitch and expand against your tongue as you went down on him. You could prolong this step of the process, take your time on him at the beginning without driving the poor thing mad.

You gazed down at it as you stroked him, warm and soft in your hand. You could feel the blood rush into it with each heartbeat. When you looked up at him though, he wasn’t smiling. Your face fell. He had been watching himself with a look of frustration, maybe even a touch of sadness.

When he saw you looking at him, he met your eyes.

“I...uh,” Paul began.

You looked at him expectantly, a bit worried.

He didn’t look straight at you.

“Do you think...uh,” 

His tone was a bit downcast, a bit hard to get out. He bit his lip, then spoke in a quiet voice. You could tell it had been weighing on his mind.

“Am I getting too old?”

“...What do you mean?” You asked gently.

Paul paused.

“Well...I don’t look the way I used to.” He muttered. His voice was quiet. “My hair’s going grey...it's a real drag, y’know. Used to have this lovely dark hair, but now…”

He’d been dying it. You saw the way his face fell. You wished you hadn’t pointed out that first gray strand to him. You were endeared by it…

His eyes flitted down at himself in your hand.

“I uh…” He looked bashful. “...don’t get  _ hard _ as quickly.”

“I don’t mind that at all.” You said. “It’s normal when you get to this age.”

Paul frowned, a bit irritated. Not with you, but with himself.

“I know, but...I don’t  _ like _ it.” He said. “I don’t _ like _ that I’ve got all these lines on my face.” 

He pointed to his face. Paul was getting more visibly upset.

“I know you say you don’t care, but I see it! ...every time I look at m’self...and it’s so...frustrating!”

His frown intensified, then he just...deflated.

“I’m not what I used to be.” He said flatly.

It sounded like it pained him to say. The first time he vocalized the thought, the specific phrase playing on his mind for the longest time.

You opened your mouth to speak, but you could only frown. You could tell him how lovely he was over and over, but you couldn’t change the way somebody felt when they saw themselves.

“I truly do think you’re just as lovely as then. Do I not tell you enough? I can remind you more often, but...I don’t know how to help beyond that.”

“It’s alright.” Paul said gently. “I know it's only inevitable things that’ve been bringing me down. Suppose people aren’t tired of me at least. They still come to see me don’t me? Buy my songs…”

“They do. And I’m very much not tired of you.”

You kissed his neck, pressing against his chest again. You still held him in your hand, and began stroking him to size again. Paul drew in a breath.

“I very much still want you. A great deal in fact.” You said.

Paul was smiling again as he felt the sensation. That made you feel much better.

You turned his head toward you, placing a soft kiss on his pretty lips.

You began to unbutton the dark shirt he wore over his turtleneck, slowly sliding it off. 

You then slid your hands under his sweater, feeling up his chest and sides. Paul shivered at the direct contact to his soft skin. 

You smiled and pulled at the rim of his trousers, lowering them with one hand, your left one playing with his soft pubic hair. His ass was as fat as in 1964, that's for sure. 

You didn’t want to fuck him against the wall, not this time, anyway.. An idea popped into your head.

“Paul, come.” You said.

You gently tugged him by his sweater, bringing him through the foyer to the living room. You sat him down on the carpet, so that he faced the large mirror. He looked at himself, then made eye contact with your reflection.

“Eh?” Paul said.

“We haven’t done this in a while, have we?”

Paul looked a bit dumbfounded. You haven't in a while, but you used to enjoy pleasing him in front of a mirror, letting him see the reactions you adored so much.

You were behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, resting your chin on the top of his sweet head.

“Christ, you haven’t aged a day, have you?” He said.

You smiled at him.

“Well I’m not real, am I?”

“Suppose not.”

You patted his shoulders.

“Wait right here, bunny.” You told him with a smile, giving them a squeeze.

Paul looked at you a bit dazed as you wandered off.

You returned with a prosthetic to use on him.

“Ah, I see.” Paul said. He seemed a bit nervous.

You still fucked him, but Paul had been more discreet about it, preferring it done in the dark, sometimes under the duvet. He was less bashful when he was the one fucking you, but you’d notice he’d take you from behind more often than not.

You nodded.

“See your lovely body, hmm?”

Paul looked over his reflection once more before nodding.

You turned his head, kissing him like before, but indulging yourself a bit more. His mouth was as good a drug as any.

You moved to the front of him so you could undress him. You unlaced his shoes, then pulled off his unbuttoned trousers.

You ran your hands down one of his bare legs.

“You’ve got such beautiful legs, Paul.” You said sweetly. “They’re the perfect shape, and so long…”

You turned to meet Paul’s eyes in his reflection. Paul was watching himself. You gave him a wink (his move traditionally).

You moved around to behind him, and he leaned back as he used to. You wrapped your arms around his body, kissing the side of his neck as you kept eye contact.

You took a moment to slick up the vibrating prosthetic, pressing it into him. You curled your other hand firm around his shaft to ground him. Paul shut his eyes tight and hissed as he felt the length enter him.

“Paul, c’mon, keep those lovely eyes open.” you said. “See yourself.”

Paul complied, cracking them open, looking at his reflection.

You pushed it deeper. Paul tilted his head back, resting on your shoulder. You allowed it. He looked so sweet and serene like this. His hair tickled your neck.

You angled it differently, better sliding against his prostate. Paul’s eyes flashed open, a gasp from his open mouth. He groaned as it grazed against it sliding back out. The vibrations were worrying into that spot wonderfully.

“Pretty thing,” You said softly. “You’re as sweet as the day I met you, believe me.”

You turned the vibrations a touch higher. Paul bit his lip. His lips shifted.

“Look at yourself.” You said, more of a rhetorical suggestion.

His eyes were wide over flushed cheeks as he watched the display. He did enjoy watching himself when he was younger, hear you compliment every aspect of his body your eyes landed on.

It was his praise fetish he had, you knew he had. You’d still never mentioned it, neither have you, but it was known. Sure, it was said Paul got a big head from all of the success, but there isn’t a person alive who never had self doubt. He didn’t grow up famous, or particularly wealthy. He’d gone through the same ups and downs everybody else did. Paul liked to be fussed over. He liked the reassurance.

Because of this, you didn’t refrain from going on and on about his beauty in bed. Perhaps you haven’t been enough lately. He still was complemented by the press, his good looks being a selling point. But much like with female celebrities, the pressure to keep up that image took a toll on him, even if he didn’t show it. Paul was just as much a sex symbol as they were, and he wasn’t 22 anymore.

He kept looking at himself without you telling him to, eyes glancing over his body as his head clouded with lust. Paul shifted his lovely legs whenever you slid against him particularly well.

You brought your lips to his ear, looking into his reflection’s eyes.

“You don’t need to hide yourself away when I fuck you, y’know. I’d do it anywhere.”

Paul let out a shaky breath, the vibrations getting to him.

“Ah-” He said sheepishly. “You’ve noticed?”

“Hmm.” You said firmly. “Of course I have. I want to  _ look _ at you as I fuck you. I adore your sounds and all, but for me there's a visual element needed, you see. Can’t exactly  _ feel _ you tighten around me, can I?”

The wording made Paul even more so bashful.

“Er, sorry.” He said softly, breaths uneven from the stimulation. His head was getting lighter, making it harder to follow your words.

In a moment of weakness, Paul let out a loud whine. Your eyes widened, grin growing larger.

“Yes, Paul.” You said, voice low with desire. “Make those sounds,  _ please _ .”

Paul was flustered for it being called out, but he was entranced by the stimulation, his release building up. His dick was fully hard in your hand. You squeezed gently, making him gasp.

“M’gonna fuck you now, bunny.” You breathed into his ear. Paul’s heart skipped a beat. 

This was closer to how you treated him in his younger days. Perhaps as Paul got older, a bit less cutesy (though still beautiful), you’d subconsciously hadn’t taken that more dominant role. After all, Paul was larger than you, stronger than you, it was easier to be this cocky back when he had his baby-face.

But Paul was the same man he was back then.

You gently lowered him to his forearms and knees. He gazed demurely at his reflection, in a sort of trance. You couldn’t blame him.

You swiftly attached the vibrating prosthetic to yourself, then entered him slowly as Paul’s fists clenched. 

You held onto his hips tightly, kneading your thumbs into his lower back.

“Feel’s nice, Paul?”

Paul only groaned, the vibrations making his words garbled.

You began to fuck him at a consistent pace, watching his refection’s face contort in pleasure. His sharp exhales sometimes came out as whines. It was beginning to make the area on the glass fog up a bit.

“Louder, Paul. C’mon.” You teased. Paul allowed a louder whine.

You wrapped a hand around his hardened shaft, finally desperate and swollen. You gave it a firm squeeze as he cried out.

“That’s it Paul. That’s it bunny.”

Paul’s expression was very sweet, unfocused eyes and pink cheeks. He was deeply enjoying the focus on him and the affirmation. Hopefully he was beginning to see himself the way you did once again as he watched his reflection.

Your hands were on his thighs, squeezing tightly and pulling his hips closer. You could feel his heartbeat as you weighed down on him, his body heat radiating against your body. It was addicting.

From behind, you raised his head up, cupping his soft cheeks. He panted against his reflection in the mirror, whining. Your fingers pressing into the softness made his skin squish adorably.

“Look at yourself. See your pretty eyes?” You said. “You’ve still got your beautiful arched eyebrows, lovely little mouth.”

His unfocused eyes gazed at himself, overwhelmed with pleasure. 

“Little bunny teeth too. Such a lustful expression you have.”

Paul’s eyes were clouded with pleasure, clearly sexual. It couldn’t be perceived as anything else. It was a good  _ good _ look for Paul’s faux-innocent face. His mouth was slack as he braced himself on his fists and forearms. He groaned.

“Little bunny.” You said. “A lovely voice too. Just a beautiful voice. It lends itself perfectly to those moans, Paul.”

Paul’s eyes rolled back. His reactions were the exact ones he had when he was younger. Perfect.

Your hands moved from his face, running over his soft sides, creeping under his dark turtleneck. His skin was damp.

“Can’t get enough of your sweet body, truly.” You said. Your hands ran over his shapely arms, closing over his clenched fists. “Such pretty hands too. Slender but so large. They feel quite nice on me, I’d say.”

Paul was finally smiling as he gasped. You felt his erection twitch in your hand, the slit having already drooled his sweet liquid all over your fingers.

You could sense when he was close, breath shakier, his whines and moans higher and more strained.

“Come on pretty baby, I’ve got you, darlin” You whispered into his seashell ear.

He opened his eyes slightly to meet yours in the reflection a split-second before shutting them tight again. He bowed his head, contorting it so that it looked like he was silently screaming. He began to make melodic sounds of pleasure deep in his chest, the way only a singer with such a sweet voice could. His erection pulsed in your hand, shooting his hot release right onto the floor. He pushed back against you.

Paul fell to his stomach in relief. He must be exhausted from the travel and performances from the day. It wasn’t such a different ending to those long days back in 1962. 

He must’ve drifted to sleep, breathing softly.

You stroked his sides. He’d dream about his younger years, maybe of people he once knew. He’d had high points and low ones, but likely more to come. You had a feeling that Paul wouldn’t stop until he was truly satisfied, and knowing him, that wouldn’t be for a while.

You thought back thirty years. If you shut your eyes it felt that it was still then, the warmth and size of him the same underneath you. 

However, life could be only lived forwards, and could only be understood backwards.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
